


Keep Breathing

by Fluterbev



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Agoraphobia, Angst, Anxiety, Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 59,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluterbev/pseuds/Fluterbev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is living a new life away from Cascade, which he left after surviving a brutal assault. Jim comes to visit, and with his support Blair starts to deal with the aftermath of what happened to him. As time goes on, however, he begins to realize that he's not the only one with problems... </p><p>This story is now complete :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to my beta Psychgirl who, as well as volunteering her eagle-eyed editing skills, has also given me loads of knowledgeable advice about the psychological aspects of this story, and also the locations in which it is set. She has been an invaluable source of information, and I couldn't have completed this story without her ♥

It helped, Blair had found, when he purposefully didn’t think about it. When he filled the long, ominous silences in his head with the mundane and the humdrum. Do the laundry, buy groceries, watch TV, eat. Ten hour shifts at the bookstore where he worked in Durham’s university district could only fill up so much of the twenty four hours each day, after all; the long, dark nights and empty days off needed their distractions too.  
  
He’d gotten good at it, at deflecting his mind from the stuff he didn’t want to remember. A vivid sensation of hands touching him intrusively and painfully, coupled with intense feelings of terror and humiliation would segue, these days, almost effortlessly into musing about whether he’d mixed the colors and the whites again, making his formerly-white boxers an even murkier shade of gray. At those times he frequently congratulated himself for how well he was coping.  
  
The guys at work had finally stopped inviting him, for the most part, to their occasional get-togethers. Even though he felt a little guilty about it Blair had to admit that he was relieved as well, especially as it had become increasingly difficult to come up with viable excuses. Eventually, after one rebuttal too many, they seemed to have gotten the message, as evidenced by the fact that no one invited Blair to anything anymore, or even chatted to him in the store about anything other than work. Instead conversation would pause when he walked past, and resume with an unmistakable air of relief once he was almost out of earshot. And Blair would go on his silent way, focusing on stacking books on shelves with an intensity of concentration that did not allow misgivings about what an antisocial dick he’d become to intrude.  
  
Given the cooling off of the initial friendliness he’d encountered at work, Blair supposed that his co-workers had guessed now that he’d been lying all along when he’d said he had other stuff to do outside of work which kept him busy, and that had made them step back from him even more. It was just one more barrier Blair had successfully managed to put between himself and the world. Another layer of insulation, keeping everyone – and everything – safely at arms’ length.  
  
Anything else was unthinkable.  
  
So every day Blair went to work and did his job, and at home he filled in the dark spaces with the kind of tedious attention to order and detail he’d used to make fun of back when Jim did it….  
  
Blair paused in his current task, breathing heavily, as longing and grief suffused him. _Don’t go there, Blair_ , he admonished himself. _Not there_.  
  
Blair understood all about comfort zones. Once his had been pretty big, encompassing some pretty wild shit. But not these days, not after everything that had happened.  
  
These days he stayed within narrow boundaries, needing the illusion of safety, immersed in routine. He hated it if anything disrupted it. The one time he’d gotten accidentally locked out of his apartment, and had been forced to call and ask the landlord to come over to let him in, he’d spent the next several hours in a state of near-panic. His home was his sanctuary, his safe place. To be denied entry to it, for no matter how short a time, had been awful, the worst thing Blair could imagine.  
  
Okay, he was wrong. It was not the worst, not by a long shot. But given how little stress he could tolerate these days, and given how losing that essential sense of safety for just a few hours had thrown him headlong into intermittent panic mode for days afterwards, it was pretty damned close.  
  
So he did his job, bought groceries once a week (always from the same store), saved whole seasons of shows to watch on the TIVO and spent his evenings focused on mindless entertainment. He kept to himself, the brief day-to-day human interactions he indulged in giving him no pleasure; just necessary evils to be endured. And he made sure to never, ever leave his key behind in the apartment again.  
  
So he was doing okay, all told. Keeping alive, keeping it together. Mostly.  
  
And then it all went to hell in a handbasket one evening, when he got home from work to find Jim waiting for him in the hallway outside his apartment.  
  
***  
  
“Chief,” Jim greeted.  
  
It was only the familiar tones of that quiet voice, coupled with the nickname Jim used only for him, which prevented Blair from having the mother of all panic attacks. When he’d stepped out of the elevator and glimpsed the tall figure standing outside his door, all he’d registered initially was that it was a man, bigger than Blair, in a place no man should be. Blair’s hand had immediately gone to the knife he always carried in his pocket – a switchblade, not exactly legal, but without it Blair doubted he’d ever be able to leave his apartment at all.  
  
Controlling his breathing with an effort, since his heart was suddenly running a marathon, Blair acknowledged his visitor, who he could now see had a suitcase on the floor beside him as though he meant to stay awhile. “Jim,” he gasped out as he approached, ashamed of how his voice shook. “What are you doing here, man?”  
  
Jim shrugged, his manner oddly cautious and polite as he studied Blair. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.” He smiled a little self-deprecatingly. “I tried to call first, but your cell phone wasn't working.”  
  
Blair had almost forgotten he had a phone, since he hadn’t used it in months. He knew for sure that he hadn’t sent Jim his address when he’d moved to North Carolina and, for a moment, almost asked how Jim had found him, but he felt too off-balance to find the words. Small talk, however, he could handle; it was about all he ever did, these days, after all. “No, no. I uh, I don’t mind,” Blair fumbled. “It’s, uh, it’s good to see you, man,” he said.  
  
After a moment of the two of them standing there uncertainly, Jim nodded towards the closed door of Blair’s apartment. “Are you going to invite me in?” he asked.  
  
“Oh!” Blair fumbled in his pocket for the key. “Oh yeah, yeah, sure.” He moved past Jim, shrinking away from actually touching him. He unlocked the door, needing a couple of tries to get the key in the lock before turning it and swinging the door wide open. Mustering up a smile - and Blair could still manage basic social niceties when he had to – he urged, “Come on in, man.”  
  
Jim moved past him into the dingy room, Blair following behind. Suddenly conscious, as he never usually was, of the unwashed dishes in the sink from breakfast, the laundry strewn around and the threadbare furniture, Blair closed the door and frantically set about instilling his usual sense of order, babbling like he hadn’t since… since _before_. “Hey,” he said. “I’m, uh, sorry about the mess. I went out in a rush this morning and didn’t have time… didn’t have time…” suddenly he was losing it, the shaky feeling he’d had ever since he’d seen Jim waiting in the corridor ambushing him full-force so that he couldn’t breathe… couldn’t breathe…  
  
“Yes you can,” Jim murmured close to his ear. “You can breathe just fine. Easy, Blair. There you go. That’s it. You’re doing great.”  
  
“But I’m not,” Blair admitted miserably, once he realized he could, in fact, breathe; the words little more than a sob, his protective armor suddenly so much dust now that Jim’s arms were so unexpectedly around him. “I’m not doing great at all, Jim.”  
  
“I know,” Jim told him, the words a comforting rumble. “That’s why I’m here. It’s gonna be okay, Blair. Everything’s okay.”  
  
Blair held on tight, and wished desperately that he could believe him.


	2. Chapter 2

“You take the bed,” Blair insisted a little while later, all false brightness once his mini-breakdown had passed. “I’ll be fine on the couch. Hell,” he chuffed an unconvincing laugh, “I fall asleep there most nights anyway, watching TV.”  
  
When he’d first arrived unannounced, Jim had briefly considered going to a hotel, because it was clear that Sandburg’s space wasn’t exactly cut out for visitors. But one look at the underlying bleakness in Blair’s demeanor, despite this sudden flipping of his mood, had convinced him otherwise. No way – no _way_ – was he going to leave his partner here alone tonight. If Blair asked him to go tomorrow, then all well and good. But right now, he wasn’t budging an inch.  
  
“The bed’ll be great, Chief,” he said, tossing Blair at least that much of a sop to his dignity by accepting his hospitality graciously. “Thanks.”  
  
Blair nodded. “Great, great,” he said. “Oh, hey. I guess you’re hungry, right?”  
  
Jim shrugged, wanting to make his visit as easy as possible on Blair. “I could eat,” he admitted. “Hey, how about we call for takeout? My treat, huh?”  
  
A shadow passed over Blair’s face, and he cast a nervous glance at the closed and securely locked front door. “I, uh, I don’t usually do that,” he said. “I don’t keep any menus, man. I don’t even have a…” he stopped, swallowing.  
  
A phone, Jim guessed he was about to say. Which Blair did, Jim knew full well, but he rarely used it. Jim had tried several times to call Blair the past few months, but his cell had always been switched off. Concerned – and hell, who wouldn’t be after what Blair had gone through? – he’d done some digging, and found that the phone was still registered in Blair’s name, and had only been used very occasionally to call just one number out of town, which Jim had discovered after further investigation to be Naomi’s.  
  
Jim let that little obfuscation slide for now, though. He was about to suggest to Blair that they use his phone instead, maybe just call directory assistance and get the number of a local Chinese restaurant, but before he could do so Blair was already moving around in the miniscule kitchen, opening cupboards and excavating the contents with incongruous enthusiasm. “I’ve got noodles,” he was saying. “Tomatoes, herbs, some other stuff. I’ll just throw something together, all right? And hey, why don’t you grab a shower, scrub off some of that road dust before we eat? You’ve traveled a long way, man.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jim agreed easily, willing for now to do this Blair’s way. “That sounds good.”  
  
But as he retrieved his wash kit from his suitcase and headed into Blair’s cubby-hole of a bathroom, he resolved that later they were going to talk. No question about it.  
  
***  
  
They ate, or at least Jim did as Blair mostly picked at his own food, feeling altogether off-balance and more than slightly nauseous. He felt his face heat up with embarrassment once more at the memory of his panic attack earlier. This was _Jim_ , for god’s sake, not some stranger. No one to freak out about or be scared of, so why the hell did Blair have to lose it like that the minute they stepped in the door?  
  
Jim swallowed his last mouthful of food, and put down his fork with a satisfied sigh. “That was really good, Chief,” he said. “You haven’t lost your touch.”  
  
“Hey,” Blair responded, unaccustomedly pleased at the praise, since he’d not cooked for anyone else for a very long time. “My pleasure, man.” He glanced over at Jim, who was watching him with an unfathomable expression on his face.  
  
“You’ve not eaten much,” Jim said pointedly.  
  
Blair looked away, feeling a sudden rush of intense discomfort under Jim’s scrutiny. “I’m not all that hungry,” he said. To his own amazement there was an unaccustomed touch of steel in his tone, reflecting the slight annoyance Jim’s words had elicited. “It’s no big deal, man. Leave it alone.” What business was it of Jim’s to remark on his appetite, anyway?  
  
Jim chuckled. “You know,” he said mildly. “That’s the first time since I arrived that I’ve seen a glimpse of the real you.”  
  
Blair’s turbulent emotions turned incandescent without warning. “Fuck you!” he spat, pushing away from the table so violently that his chair toppled over with a clatter. “This _is_ the real me, man! This is who I _am_.” Rage ignited, and burst forth in white-hot flame. “If that’s not good enough for you anymore, then you can just get the hell out!”  
  
Jim hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked away. Peering up at Blair from where he still sat, making him feel as though he was a suspect to be interrogated, he asked, “Is that what you want?”  
  
“ _None_ of this is what I want!” Blair said bitterly. “But it’s the best it’s ever gonna get after… after what…” Fuck, he was losing it again, pathetic wuss that he was. “Just… _go_!” he said, the words forced out through an obstruction in his throat as if he was being fucking _strangled_ again. His vision blurred, his desperation that, once more, Jim was going to be a witness to his ongoing breakdown making him beg shamelessly. “ _Please_.”  
  
He sensed rather than saw Jim stand up and move towards him, a looming figure blurred into something menacing through misted eyes. “Don’t touch me,” Blair ground out urgently through clenched teeth, and the figure backed up, hands raised. “Just… don’t.”  
  
“I won’t,” he heard Jim say quietly. “Not unless you say it’s okay. But I’m not leaving, either. I didn’t come here to hurt you, Chief. That’s not what I want. I just want to help, all right? You’ve carried this long enough by yourself.”  
  
“It’s mine to carry, man.” Blair asserted, needing Jim to back the hell _off_. “I just gotta get through it, just get my equilibrium back. That’s all I gotta do. After that everything will be okay.”  
  
There was a pause. “Are you seeing a therapist?”  
  
Yet again Jim was intruding into areas where Blair didn’t want him to go. “That’s none of your goddamn business,” he snapped.  
  
“You’re not, are you?” Jim ploughed on regardless. “You said back in Cascade that you weren’t ready to talk about what happened. Are you ready to talk to someone now?”  
  
“No.” Unequivocal.  
  
“How about you talk to me?”  
  
“Especially not you!”  
  
“Why?”  
  
It was the same question Jim had asked him repeatedly before he’d left. Blair hadn’t been ready to answer it then, and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to answer it now. He didn’t think he’d ever be ready. But he was barely hanging on by a thread here, and he needed to get Jim off his case once and for all so he could find space to _breathe_.  
  
Robbed of choice again; just as easily as that.  
  
“I’m not _him_ anymore,” he finally blurted out bitterly, trying to articulate the problem so that Jim would finally get it. “Not that guy, you used to know, _Blair Sandburg_. You look at me, and every time you do, you see _him_. But that’s not who I am!”  
  
“You’re losing me, Chief,” Jim said.  
  
Blair actually laughed, at that. “No, no, man. It’s not you I’m losing, it’s _me_. I’m already lost. I don’t exist – or at least he doesn’t. Not anymore. You think you saw one glimpse of the real me?” Into Jim’s uncomprehending silence, Blair continued, “Well take a good look, man. That was nothing more than an aberration, because _this_ is the real me. This is who I am now; this is all I’ll ever be. You want to know why I really left Cascade?”  
  
“Why?” Jim prompted softly.  
  
“Because I had no place there anymore. I didn’t belong. No more Rainier, hey, that was my own stupid fault, right? But I thought… I thought, when Simon offered it, that I’d gotten a second chance to do something with my life. Be your partner; be a cop. And I tried, man, I really did. And look what happened, huh? I failed. And,” Blair held up a hand before Jim could interrupt, “I know it wasn’t my fault, it was the… the bastards who hurt me, all right? I _know_ that. But that doesn’t matter. Whose _fault_ it is doesn’t matter. What _matters_ is I can’t do it anymore, Jim. I can’t _be_ that person any more. And if I can’t do it, then I’m no use to you, and I’ve got no place back there.”  
  
“So you moved on,” Jim remarked, just as soft as before. “Made a new start.”  
  
“Yeah, I did,” Blair said. He opened his arms expansively and gestured around. “Welcome to my world. It’s not much, but it’s got all the amenities any self-respecting lunatic will ever need. Best of all it’s far away from Cascade, and I get to be totally anonymous. Because I just want to be left _alone_ , man.”

Jim stood up and moved away, turning his back to Blair and, for one conflicted moment, Blair thought he was actually going to go.  
  
But, after a brief interval, Jim turned back again and fixed his disturbingly direct gaze on Blair. “You told me,” he said, “right after I came inside the door, that you weren’t doing great. Right in the middle of the worst panic attack I’ve ever seen you have, even worse than right after you were rescued. Even worse than after Lash. And you know what? Given the timing, and the fact you were clinging on to me so hard at the time it felt like you’d fall off the edge of a cliff if you let go, I think that was the most honest thing you’ve said to me since I arrived. Because from where I’m standing, Sandburg, you are a fucking _mess_.”  
  
Stunned to silence by Jim’s words, Blair found that he had nothing to say which would refute it.  
  
Into the void, Jim stepped closer. “I’m not here to take over, Blair, or to make things harder for you than they already are. This is your home, your life. You want me gone, you say it like you mean it, and I’m gone. But I want you to hear what I have to say first. I’m here,” he said, stepping nearer, close enough to touch but _not_ touching, “because I’m your friend. Because I care about you. I love you, all right? What we’ve got,” he gestured between them both, “you and me, is not just about what use you are to me back in Cascade. And I believe, despite all that bullshit you just spewed, that you know that too.”  
  
Blair said nothing, frozen immobile, feeling Jim’s exhales as intermittent tingles on the skin of his face. Apart from Jim putting his arms around him earlier, this was the closest Blair had allowed himself to be to another human being in months. His stomach was in knots, but he wasn’t panicking; this was _Jim._  
  
And god help him, he _needed_ this.  
  
“Well?” Jim prompted softly. “What’s it gonna be, huh? You want me to leave? Just say the word and I’ll leave. No argument.”  
  
Swallowing hard, Blair looked up, into eyes which transparently didn’t despise him for his weakness, despite how well Blair had managed to convince himself otherwise before he left Cascade, and during all the long, lonely months since that he’d spent hiding in North Carolina.  
  
He’d been wrong. It hadn’t been the first time.  
  
“Stay,” he whispered. “Please.” And in an act of extreme recklessness, he opened his arms to Jim.  
  
“That’s what I hoped you say,” Jim murmured, before he moved in to graciously accept the invitation.

 ***

 Things drifted, for the remainder of the evening, into what passed for normality here in Sandburg’s territory. Blair seemed drained of energy in the aftermath of his outburst, so Jim cut him a break and decided not to pressure him into any more emotional bloodletting tonight. They could come back to the stuff they needed to deal with another time, because Jim was determined that he wasn’t going back to Cascade until they had.

  
If Blair was embarrassed by his previous volatility it didn’t really show; rather he seemed to be relaxing more and more the longer he spent in Jim’s presence, the palpable tenseness he’d displayed earlier gradually draining away. Jim felt a constriction in his chest that he hadn’t known was there ease up with that realization, allowing him to breathe easier in Blair’s company in return.  
  
After clearing up the remains of their meal they relaxed together on the couch, Blair flicking channels on the TV until he found something mindless they could both tolerate. They chatted a little; both of them, by unspoken agreement, avoiding topics which might be too heavy or uncomfortable. Blair didn’t ask about life back in Cascade, and Jim didn’t offer any information. Instead he prompted Blair to tell him a little bit about his life here; unthreatening things, like his job at the bookstore. Not that there was much at all Blair seemed able or willing to volunteer, beyond the basic facts of where it was and what he did there.  
  
Later that night, lying sleepless in Blair’s bed and listening to the steady breathing of his friend as he slept on the couch, Jim glanced at the closed, triple-locked door of the apartment, which Blair apparently didn’t even feel safe enough to open to take delivery of a takeout. And he felt he was getting a pretty good grasp of the lie of the land.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Blair looked up from what he was doing when he became aware that Jim was stirring, then turned to watch when his friend sat up in bed. “Hey,” Blair greeted. “I was just writing you a note, man. I gotta go to work.”  
  
Jim yawned and stretched, his bare torso all unselfconscious rippling muscles, before scratching absently at a well-defined pectoral. “You working all day?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep.  
  
“Yeah,” Blair confirmed, surreptitiously admiring Jim’s languid confidence with a long-practiced eye, his secret appreciation of Jim’s good looks undiminished even after everything that he’d gone through. “Hey, why don’t you go lie back down for a while? You still look pretty tired. And you know, uh, make yourself at home, all right? I’ll be back around seven-thirty tonight.” Swallowing hard, Blair reached into his pocket for his keys, then brandished them at Jim before placing them beside the note he’d written on the table. “I’ll leave these, then you can come and go as you please. But they’re my only set, so don’t lose them, okay? And… and can you make sure you’re back here in time to let me in?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jim said. “No problem, Chief.” He reached for his tee-shirt and pulled it on over his head. “What time do you normally go for lunch?” he asked. “I’ll come meet you.”  
  
“I, uh, I don’t usually take much of a break. I just stay in the store, most days.” Make that every day, if he was honest.  
  
Jim was pulling on pants. “How about today you make an exception?”  
  
Blair felt like such a wuss. His first instinct was to say no; he’d never eaten out since he’d moved here, had no idea where to go, in fact, and breaking his routine in any way seemed such an insurmountable obstacle. But Jim was here, and had traveled a hell of a long way to see him. It was the least he could do, really. He knew that, even though the idea set his heart to pounding. “I could probably get off at around one o’clock,” he conceded, his decision made.  
  
Jim smiled, looking pleased. “Great,” he said, getting up off the bed. “Give me directions, and I’ll come by the bookstore and meet you.”  
  
The thought of that looming lunch appointment haunted Blair throughout the morning, both during the short bus ride to work and as he went about his usual duties in the store. But the nervousness had an edge of excitement to it, a tingling sense of anticipation, altogether unlike the kind of fear Blair usually associated with an obligation he at least half-dreaded, yet could not get out of.  
  
As one o’clock approached, after a crawlingly-slow morning, Blair found himself raising his head suddenly at the sound of a familiar voice. Jim, it seemed, had come in without Blair seeing him, probably while he’d been in the back of the store a little earlier, and was hovering around patiently, waiting for Blair to finish what he was doing. “I’m fine, thanks,” Jim was saying, in response to a query from one of Blair’s co-workers. “I’m just waiting to meet someone.”  
  
Blair rounded the stack of books and, as if perfectly aware of his approach – which, Blair had to concede with the slight thrill Jim’s abilities still managed to instill in him, he probably was - Jim turned towards him, his smile full of happy welcome. “Hey,” Jim said. “There’s my friend now.”  
  
Blair’s manager Mike, who’d come over to give Jim his salesman spiel, turned and his eyes widened when he saw Blair, before momentarily shifting his gaze over Blair’s head to look for the person Jim was more likely to be waiting for. Blair put him out of his misery. “Uh, hey, Mike?” he said, a little tentatively. “Is it okay if I take off for an hour? Tina and John went for lunch at twelve, so they’re due back any minute.”  
  
Mike looked back toward Jim for a moment, then at Blair once more, still apparently stunned that Blair actually seemed to have a social life after all. “Sure,” he said. “Take as long as you like.” And with that, he walked off and left them to it.  
  
Jim’s eyebrows raised, but he didn’t say a word.  
  
A short while later, Jim steered Blair solicitously into a booth at a diner just a couple of blocks away. “I found this place earlier, when I was taking a look around the area,” he said. “You been here before?”  
  
“No,” Blair said. He hadn’t eaten out for a very long time, not since… well, since _before_ , when he’d still lived in Cascade.  
  
He tended to conceptualize his life that way these days: _before_ and _after_. The Blair who existed before would have scoped out this neighborhood long ago, trying out the relative merits of this deli and that eatery. He’d have formed connections with people who worked in the area, and would have regarded going out for lunch as absolutely no big deal.  
  
Sometimes, these days, he hated that earlier Blair. He’d been so ridiculously naïve, despite everything that he’d seen and experienced during the years he’d spent working with Jim. He’d convinced himself that there was good to be found in every situation, if only you made the effort to look, and had missed the huge, fucking _obvious_ clues which proved how absolutely wrong he was until it was too late.  
  
Not that it mattered any more. That Blair was long dead, killed by his own blind stupidity.  
  
Jim was looking at the menu, so Blair picked up his as well. They ordered: Jim a burger and fries and Blair a salad, because he wasn’t all that hungry. His stomach was still in knots, in any case; this was all so unexpected and weird, compared to his regular working day.  
  
The food came in short order. In-between bites, Jim pushed Blair’s keys across the table. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I got a spare set cut, so you can have these back. You seemed a little loathe to let them out of your sight.”  
  
“Thanks,” Blair said, as he gratefully pocketed the keys, vaguely ashamed at the relief he felt at having them back in his possession, and the lack of even the slightest issue with Jim having gotten his own without any consultation. “So, how long are you planning to stay around?” He asked, curious. He didn’t want Jim to think he was hinting that he wanted him to leave, so he added hopefully, “I mean, you can stay for a while longer, right?”  
  
Jim shrugged. “I’m in no rush to get back,” he said. “I don’t want to get in your way, though. I’ll stay at your place tonight, if that’s okay with you; maybe book into a hotel after that. You got any recommendations of where I could go?”  
  
“No,” Blair admitted. “And you don’t have to do that,” he added. “Go to a hotel, I mean. I’m… I know I freaked out a bit last night. But I’m happy you’re here.” He was vaguely astonished, when he said it, how much he meant it. “I, uh, I really do want you to stay with me for awhile. If you want to, that is, My place isn’t huge but I think we can make it work.”  
  
Jim smiled at him in response, a huge, happy grin. “Okay,” he said simply.  
  
Blair found his own smile, embryonic and unpracticed, widening in return. He felt safe here with Jim; a wholly unfamiliar emotion these days. Maybe even a little happy.  
  
Then that momentary relaxation of his defenses fled in an instant. A huge crash set Blair’s heart to painful pounding, blackness encroaching on his vision as he forgot how to breathe. By the time his brain caught up with his visceral panic, informing him that a waitress had simply dropped a tray, the damage was done, and he’d lost it completely.  
  
Something covered his mouth and nose, and a voice commanded, “Breathe, Chief. Keep breathing. In and out, you can do it. Easy.” Something rustled oddly in front of his face as he struggled to obey, and he heard Jim running interference, in response to a muted query. “No, no he’ll be fine. He has asthma; left his inhaler at home. Thanks for your concern.”  
  
After a moment or two of fighting to breathe into what he belatedly realized was a paper bag, Blair’s vision cleared. Jim had moved across from his seat opposite to sit next to Blair, one hand holding the bag to Blair’s face, the other rubbing his back gently. Jim’s thigh was leaning hot and heavy against his, his posture, leaning toward Blair and half-blocking him from anyone who might glance their way, at once possessive and protective.  
  
As Blair found the strength to push the bag away, Jim asked quietly, “Does this happen often?”  
  
Stripped bare of all subterfuge born of pride, Blair admitted, “Yeah, pretty much.” He took a few increasingly deeper breaths, thankful that it was possible to do so, although his chest hurt when he inhaled. “I’m okay if I stick to routine. Home, work. That’s pretty much it. This is out of my comfort zone, man.”  
  
“You want to go home, now?” Jim asked. His hand on Blair’s back had stopped rubbing, but to Blair’s relief he kept it there, a comforting pressure which absorbed the tremors in Blair’s rigid muscles and helped to channel them away.  
  
Blair _did_ want to go home, there was nowhere else he would rather be right this moment, but that wasn’t possible. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “My shift doesn’t finish until 7.00 tonight.” He took a few more healing breaths, relieved beyond bearing that he seemed to be over the worst, then turned to look up into Jim’s concerned face. “I’ll be okay,” he insisted. “I… I can handle being there for a few more hours. It’s no big deal. I’m used to this, man.”  
  
In answer, Jim’s hand drifted up Blair’s back to cup the back of his neck, and Blair found himself pulled forward into a brief, hard, one-armed hug. “I’m gonna stay nearby,” Jim told him, the hot puffs of breath on Blair’s ear making him shiver. “I won’t hang around inside your store, I don’t want to get in your way, disrupt your work. But I’ll be close by, close enough to hear. If you need me, Chief, for anything at all, you say my name and I’ll be _there_.” Then Blair was released as Jim stood up, and accosted the waitress who was walking by, to ask her for the bill.  
  
Blair could have said, _“I don’t want you listening to me,”_ or, _“You’ve got better stuff to do.”_ Or he could have gotten mad and accused Jim of treating him like a fucking weakling who needed protecting from himself, when all he really wanted was to be left alone.  
  
But instead, what he whispered under his breath was, “Thanks, Jim.”


	4. Chapter 4

After making sure that Blair got back to work okay, Jim took advantage of the fact that he was in a bookstore to buy himself a paperback. Then, after briefly catching Blair’s still wary eye and gesturing at his ear meaningfully, Jim headed out without any additional fuss.

The bookstore was in a district he suspected Blair would, at one time, have gotten a lot of pleasure out of hanging out in. It reminded him of an area close to Rainier that Blair had often dragged Jim out to; quirky shops, ethnic cafes and bars, and an overwhelmingly young, slightly alternative clientele. But from what Jim had observed, he very much doubted that Blair had explored the delights that this – or indeed _any_ \- part of Durham had to offer at all. 

There was plenty to occupy Jim’s attention during the long afternoon, from the music shop selling rare second-hand vinyl, at which Jim bought a couple of Santana and Frank Zappa records he didn’t already have, to various multi-cultural food outlets, where he purchased some delicacies to take back to eat later at Blair’s. 

Late afternoon found him ensconced in a café just over the street from the store where Blair worked, ostensibly engrossed in his novel with a steaming cappuccino to hand, but in actual fact listening avidly to his friend who was talking in halting tones to a customer. “ _And the Natural History section is just alongside it_ ,” he was saying, “ _so hopefully you’ll find something between the two that you’ll like. Just, uh, just ask if you need any help, okay?_ ” Jim could tell from Blair’s tone that he was pretty tense, but despite that he seemed to be coping just fine. 

It was something Jim had wondered about, considering how frightened Blair seemed to be of human contact in general. How did he manage to function every day in a large, busy bookstore, which had a steady stream of customers coming in and out all day long, many of whom he’d be obliged to interact with? 

Jim’s attention was caught again suddenly when, still intermittently focused in on the bookstore, he heard someone say Blair’s name. “ _Hey, Blair. Can I talk to you for a minute?_ ” It sounded like the manager, Mike. 

“ _Uh, sure_.” By the hesitation in that answer Blair’s nervousness had evidently increased apace, his heart thudding. Jim listened closely, putting away his book and draining his coffee cup, preparing to go over there if the need arose. 

“ _I noticed_ ,” Mike was now saying, “ _that you looked a little upset after lunch. Is everything okay?_ ” 

There was silence for a few seconds, Blair’s heartbeat thudding in Jim’s ears like a timpani. Eventually he answered, “ _Yeah, yeah I’m fine_.” 

Jim stood up, still listening, and headed out into the street. 

Mike, it seemed, wasn’t convinced by Blair’s assurances. “ _Look, tell me it’s none of my business if you want, Blair. But that guy who came to meet you, is he giving you any trouble? I ask because I’ve noticed him still hanging around; he walked past, looking in the window two or three times. And if you’ve got a problem, man, then I want to help_.” 

This time there was no hesitation. “ _No! No, Mike, it’s nothing like that. Jim’s a friend; my best friend. He’s staying with me for a few days and… when we went out earlier, I uh, I wasn’t feeling too good. He’s probably staying close because he’s, well, he’s concerned about me, I guess_.” 

“ _Okay_ ,” Mike said. “ _Hey, Blair, look. If you’re not well – and seriously, man, you definitely look like hell – why don’t you take off early? Take a couple of days out, get some rest and visit with your friend. You’ve never taken a day’s vacation in all the time you’ve worked here_.” 

Jim opened the door of the bookstore and stepped inside. He spotted Blair and Mike by the cash desk, and made his way over. “I don’t want to…” Blair had started to say, but stopped as soon as he saw Jim. He looked flushed and uncomfortable, as though being the focus of Mike’s well-meaning attention was more than he could bear. 

“Hey, Chief,” Jim greeted, nodding in a friendly way at Mike, who was studying him a little suspiciously. “You still feeling ill, huh?” He said to Blair. He held out a hand to Mike then. “Jim Ellison,” he said congenially. “You’re Mike, Blair’s boss, right? I’ve just come by to see how he’s doing. I guess the food at the diner down the block didn’t agree with him.” 

Mike seemed somewhat reassured by Jim’s forthright and friendly manner. He turned to Blair once more. “Go home,” he urged. “Take it easy. We can manage without you for the next couple of days, no sweat.” Then, to Jim, “Get this guy out of here and take care of him, huh?” 

“That’s the plan,” Jim said, smiling gratefully. “Come on Chief, let’s head home.” 

Blair just nodded, and went to get his coat. 

*** 

“Are you pissed at me?” Blair heard Jim ask, once they were both sitting in his rental car. 

Blair shrugged, his gaze fixed on something inconsequential out of the window. “I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t decided yet.” 

Jim didn’t say anything. Instead he started the engine and pulled out of the lot. 

The journey didn’t take long in a car, Blair mused, as they pulled up outside his apartment building a short while later. He’d only ever gotten the bus before, which always started and stopped along the way. One thing was for sure: it wasn’t nearly enough time for him to work out whether he felt relieved and grateful, or angry as hell. 

Jim killed the engine. Into Blair’s silence he said, “If you think I’m out of line, Blair, just say it, and I’ll apologize. I told you I’m not here to take over. I just thought you needed a break, that’s all. Your boss seemed to agree.” 

Feeling exhausted and really not up to any kind of altercation, Blair just shook his head in resignation. “Let’s just go inside, man,” he pleaded. “I’m beat.” 

Once inside they took turns in the shower, Jim first, then Blair. By the time Blair emerged there was a veritable feast waiting for him; fresh green salad, pitta bread and hummus, olives, stuffed vine leaves, chili-peppers filled with feta, taramasalata, baklava. It seemed that Jim had gone overboard at the Greek delicatessen near the bookstore, and the results of his foraging made Blair’s mouth water, despite himself. 

Blair ate with surprising relish, considering his strange mood, although mostly in silence as Jim regaled him with the things he’d seen during the day. And he couldn’t hold back an amused and indulgent smile when Jim showed him the treasures he’d amassed at the record store, eyes shining in reverent wonder as he stroked the glossy covers possessively. 

Jim seemed determined to give him some space after that, difficult though that was in Blair’s tiny apartment. He managed it by stretching out on Blair’s bed and losing himself in the novel he’d bought earlier at the bookstore. Sitting alone on the couch, Blair surfed TV channels mindlessly for a while, the sound of pages turning an oddly reassuring counterpoint to his turbulent thoughts. 

Eventually Blair clicked off the TV. “Jim,” he said. “We need to talk.” 

*** 

Jim slipped a paper receipt into his book as a bookmark; he’d never been someone who turned down the corner to keep his place. “That sounds ominous,” he said, putting the paperback aside and sitting up. “You want me to leave, huh, hoss?” 

Blair shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

“Okay.” Jim was hugely relieved; he’d been expecting the opposite ever since they got back. “Chief,” he said seriously. “I was out of line earlier. I had no right to pressure you into leaving work early like that. I’m sorry.” 

To his surprise Blair actually smiled. “Strange as it may sound,” he said, “I’m not mad at you. I’m actually kinda grateful. You were right, man. I wasn’t dealing all that well today; I had too much on my mind, and these days I can only really cope with one thing at a time.” 

“So, are we good?” Jim prompted. 

Blair didn’t answer right away, and when he did it was with a question. “Jim, do you want to know why I left Cascade? I mean why I _really_ left? Apart from what I said yesterday, I mean.” 

“If you want to tell me,” Jim prompted, “I’ll listen.” 

Blair took a few steadying breaths, then he looked over at Jim. “I... I’ve always been pretty independent. You know that, right?” he began. “Naomi raised me that way. I’m used to looking out for myself.” 

Jim nodded. “You’re a resourceful guy,” he acknowledged. “I think that’s one reason you and I got on so well as partners. I could always trust you to take care of yourself when I was focusing on something else, even when the going got tough.” 

Blair winced a little ruefully at that, clearly believing that that those times were gone. “It always meant a lot to me, man. That faith you had in me to deal with stuff. You never made me feel like I wasn’t up to it, even on the odd occasion you got a fit of conscience and told me not to be a hero.” 

Jim shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you were always up to it. Sometimes _you_ didn’t seem to realize that, but I was never in any doubt.” 

“But I’m not anymore,” Blair said bluntly. “Not now. And… and once I recognized that fact, I needed to put some distance between us. Because… needy and pathetic as it may sound, your opinion matters to me, man. Maybe more than it should, I admit. I left because I… I couldn’t face it that you’d look at me differently once you understood that I couldn’t be that person anymore.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Jim said. “You left, because you thought I’d stop believing in you?” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “What is this, huh? Peter Pan?” 

“Yeah,” Blair breathed out a short, self-conscious laugh. “That’s about it. Wild, huh?” His smile faded, his eyes averted. “I thought if I went away by myself, if I just stood on my own two feet for a while, then I’d be able to get it all back. Make a triumphant return as your partner, risen from the ashes.” He looked over at Jim again sadly. “Guess it hasn’t worked out quite like I planned.” 

Jim stood, and moved over to join Blair on the couch, who shifted along to allow him to sit down. 

Looking earnestly into Blair’s face, Jim insisted, “You’re not any less of a person, any less of a _man_ , than you ever were.” Jim nudged Blair’s knee with his own. “You’re just _hurt_. There’s a difference.” 

“You make it sound so simple,” Blair said wearily, looking away. 

“It _is_ simple. Look,” Jim allowed a little bit of the exasperation he felt to infiltrate his tone. “I’m here, aren’t I? I already told you why; you’re my friend, and I care about you. I’d care about you if you never got any better than you are now. Because it doesn’t matter to me, Chief, how great of a cop you were, or how well you’re getting it all together. All I care about is that you’re hurting, and you’re trying to deal with it all on your own. And I gotta tell you, Chief. That last part? That totally pisses me off, if you want the truth. Because we’re friends, and I remember you telling me on plenty of occasions that friends help each other.” 

“If you only knew,” Blair said, his voice thick with restrained emotion, “how easy it would be for me to… to just hand it all over to you, man. Just sit back and wait for you to make it all better. Because some days, I’m just so fucking _tired_ , Jim.” He looked up, his misery plain. “But I can’t do that, because if I do, then I’ve lost everything. I’d become this… this total parasite, who can’t even get out of bed in the morning. And eventually you’d get so tired of it you’d be outta here for good. And I wouldn’t blame you one bit.” 

“So just do it for a little while,” Jim insisted “Give yourself a break. Relax and let me carry some of the strain, at least while I’m here. I’ll still respect you; hell, I’ll respect you _more_ because it takes a strong man to know when he needs help.” He looked at Blair intently. “And you do need help, don’t you? Because this isn’t working, Chief.” 

“I know.” Blair looked pretty defeated. “You’re right. But…” he sighed again. “I have to admit, I’m not really comfortable with this. It goes against the grain for me to lay my problems on you, when I should be strong enough to deal with it myself.” 

Jim gave in to an instinct he’d been battling all night, wrapping both arms around Blair and pulling him close. “I _do_ believe in Sandburg!” Jim murmured in his ear, as he held him close, rubbing Blair’s back soothingly. “I do! I _do_!” 

Blair gave a helpless chuckle, his hand clutching tight to the back of Jim’ shirt. “Just don’t start calling me Tinkerbelle, all right?” he asked. “I can stand a lot, man, but I don’t think I can stand _that_.” He pressed his face into Jim’s shoulder then, and his breath hitched a little, although he held himself taut, not quite finding the courage to let it go. 

But he got there in the end, just as Jim had known he would. Sandburg was the bravest man he’d ever met, after all. 


	5. Chapter 5

The men who abducted Blair several months ago, who had hurt him in so many enduring ways, had initially been accused, alongside counts of kidnapping and felony assault, of sexual assault. The latter charge had eventually been dropped, the matter dealt with instead as part of the wider assault charge.  
  
That worked for Blair, because he knew that sex had absolutely nothing to do with it.   
  
None of them had gotten their rocks off, he was certain, on what they’d done to him. Not in a sexual way, anyway; they’d definitely gotten off on the power trip. And power was what it had all been about. Their power, and his absolute helplessness.   
  
They’d concealed their identities, but Blair had recognized one of their voices, and that had ultimately been their undoing. He was an observant guy, after all, and he’d met uniformed officer Simon Lawrenson a couple of times before, chatting with him amiably in the break room, and working peripherally with him during a case.  
  
At the time he’d been in the hands of Lawrenson and his buddies Blair had kept that recognition to himself, hoping desperately that if he didn’t let it slip they might let him live. It was the one desperate hope he was able to cling to, since they had taken such pains to conceal their identities.  
  
He could still, without too much effort, hear their voices, and the things they’d said to him over and over. _Fag_ was way up there at the top of the list, as well as any number of poisonous taunts about his heritage. _Fraud_ as well, but that wasn’t so bad; he’d called himself that first, after all.  
  
 _Ridicule_ was the constant message he got from them, reinforced in an inventive variety of intrusive ways. “Wait ‘till your cop pals see you like this, pretty boy,” they’d told him, stripping him down, opening him up and spreading him out to ensure his maximum degradation. None of them had fucked him; they’d spat on him, pissed on him and knocked him around, but not one of them had wanted to use him for their own pleasure.   


In the end, after two days of almost non-stop brutality and humiliation, they’d only breached his body because they’d laughed amongst themselves about how it would be funnier if Blair was found with a huge dildo up his ass. Then they’d left him, exposed, bound and shivering with pain and fear, and called 911.   
  
The first cops on the scene had actually laughed at the sight that met their eyes. They’d been led to believe by the anonymous caller (who it later turned out had been Lawrenson) that Blair’s predicament was the result of a kinky sex game gone wrong.  
  
It hadn’t taken them long to realize their mistake. Blair had been reported missing two days before and, as soon as he’d been un-gagged and had managed to gasp out his name in response to his rescuers’ none-too-sympathetic initial enquiries, everything had changed.  
  
The damage was already done, however. The police officers who’d decided to make Blair their target, full of festering resentment that a self-confessed fraud was now a cop when he’d once hypocritically played a part in bringing down a bunch of corrupt narcotic cops (some of whom had been their buddies), had achieved their aim. In the eyes of just about every other cop in Cascade, among whom word of how he’d been found had quickly spread (along with a few extremely graphic photographs surreptitiously distributed via email by Lawrenson and the others), he’d been thoroughly unmanned and turned into a laughing stock for evermore.   
  
Blair, of course, had been kidnapped previously, and survived the experience. In part that was down to the motives of his abductors. Lash had been insane, so in a way he’d had the best reason of all to do what he’d done. Iris and her brother had been simply out for what they could gain, which was true of just about all the other people who’d briefly held Blair against his will. Human, frail, understandable.  
  
What Lawrenson and his buddies had done, however, had been another thing entirely. They’d broken him with obvious relish in a pitiless and determined attempt to completely destroy another human being, before leaving him alive to deal with the repercussions. What could ever, in anyone’s wildest imagination, be understandable about that?  
  
They’d pretty much succeeded. But for the support of Jim, Simon and some of their friends in Major Crime, all of whom had gone all-out to shield and support him in the aftermath, Blair sometimes thought he’d never have survived the hours, weeks and months before the trial, his desire to escape from the world for good had been so great.  
  
Blair had managed to describe what had occurred in his statement, and a few months later he’d stood up in court to give evidence, right under the hostile gaze of his abusers. He’d been able on both occasions to talk about the mechanics of it, the impersonal facts of what they’d done.  
  
He’d never, ever, been able to talk about how it made him feel.  
  
After the trial, he’d put into action the plans he’d been making ever since it happened. He needed to be in a place where there were no pointing fingers and embarrassed whispers, no measuring looks. He needed to hide, to be invisible, to disappear. He decided, ultimately, to head to Durham in North Carolina not because he had contacts there, but because it was one of the few areas of the country he could think of where he knew no-one at all.  
  
To Blair’s immense relief Jim hadn’t tried to talk him out of it, because if one person in the world understood how unbearable it was to be under the spotlight, it was him. Instead he’d driven Blair to the airport and sent him on his way. “Send me your address when you get settled,” he’d urged. And Blair had meant to, he really had, but the time had never seemed never right. He’d wanted to be doing so much better before he next spoke to Jim.  
  
So now here he was, living in exile, far away from Cascade in a still-unfamiliar city. Lurching from one panic attack to the next, so frightened of his own shadow that he couldn’t bear a knock on his own front door or the ringing of his phone. But Jim was here, still _believing_ in him, despite everything.  
  
All Blair needed to do now was find a little belief in himself.  
  
***

 

Jim ran a hand over Blair’s curls, pleased that his hair had grown back as luxuriant and thick as ever, although he seemed disposed now to keep it quite a bit shorter. The bastards who’d taken him had shaved his head, daubing his bald crown with scrawled-on words of hatred. Jim would never forget how angry that had made him feel, that desecration of his friend’s hair, out of all proportion to the severity of the crime. They’d done far worse things to Blair during that nightmare forty-eight hours, but that one, dehumanizing act had come the closest to pushing Jim over the edge to killing fury.   
  
Blair’s head was resting, at this moment, on a cushion placed on Jim’s lap. Blair hadn’t protested when, after he’d gotten over the worst of his meltdown, Jim had steered him to lie down on the couch and lay his head down. He’d dozed after that for the next couple of hours, worn out by the emotional storm he’d weathered, Jim’s hands smoothing over the lines on his brow periodically, keeping connected, letting Blair know he was here.  
  
After one more gentle pass over his hair, Blair blinked and opened his eyes. He looked serene and untroubled, gazing up at Jim with clear, blue eyes unmarred by anything other than peace. He stirred, catching Jim’s other hand in his own and pressing it unselfconsciously to his lips in a brief, dry kiss before cradling it close. “Thank you,” he whispered.  
  
Jim stroked Blair’s hair again, liking the bouncy texture, the clean, glossy sheen of it. “No problem, Tinkerbelle,” he said, smiling.  
  
Blair let loose an appalled, musical laugh. “You dick,” he said, thumping Jim halfheartedly on the chest with the hand that wasn’t holding tight to Jim’s. “You call me that again, man, and you and me are gonna have a problem.” His chuckles died away and he raised the hand he’d whacked Jim with up to his mouth, yawning widely; clearly still exhausted, if considerably more relaxed.  
  
Jim repositioned the hand that Blair held in his to lace their fingers together, his other hand still busily playing with his friend’s hair, intermittently twining his fingers in the curls and massaging Blair’s scalp gently with his fingertips. “You ready to go to bed, huh?” he asked, watching as Blair’s eyes became heavy-lidded once again under his ministrations. “I’ll take the couch tonight, Chief. Fair’s fair.”  
  
Blair swallowed, gazing gratefully up at Jim, his eyes glistening slightly. “Would it… would it sound weird, man, if I asked you to sleep in the bed with me? I just…” he hesitated, searching for the words. “I just really like being close to you like this.”  
  
“I like it too,” Jim admitted softly. Blair, he could see, was wearing his heart on his sleeve tonight; a rare and precious display of vulnerability and trust, given everything that’d happened to him. Jim only hoped his own tender emotions were equally obvious. “It’s fine by me,” he agreed easily. “If you’re comfortable with that.”  
  
They took turns in the bathroom, Blair changing into a tee shirt and sweats, Jim sliding in-between the sheets wearing his usual minimalist night attire of boxers. The easiness between them (to Jim’s relief) persisted, neither of them shying away when their forearms brushed and rested close in the space between them. No no-mans land, this, but a safe space for the two of them, in which a tentative touch could become something more, should either of them wish it.  
  
Jim found that he _did_ wish it. His fingers sought Blair’s in the darkness, connecting, entwining. Blair’s fingers squeezed back briefly, then relaxed in his hold.  
  
Hand in hand, they slept.


	6. Chapter 6

Unusually for him, Blair drifted awake the next morning in a state of delicious lassitude, the bed toasty-warm thanks to the body heat of the man who lay sleeping beside him, Blair’s hand still loosely held in his. 

Blair should feel embarrassed, he knew, about waking up next to Jim like this. But last night, lying with his head in Jim’s lap with Jim telling him over and over both in words and through touch that it was okay, it had seemed just _right_ somehow that they remain close. And Jim hadn’t seemed to mind; or at least Blair didn’t _think_ he had. 

But Blair’s lassitude was already dissipating as light filtered through the heavy drapes which masked the windows, and shame wasn’t far behind. Carefully, so as not to wake him, he extracted his hand from Jim’s. God, he was such a mess. He’d cried like a baby, clung on to Jim like a fucking _limpet_. How the hell could Jim stand to be around him like this? 

“You freaking out on me, Peter Pan?” Jim drawled beside him, his eyes still closed, before turning his head to blink sleepily at Blair. 

“That’s an improvement on Tinkerbelle, I guess, but not by much,” Blair quipped. Then he admitted, “A little. Mostly I’m wondering why _you’re_ not freaking out.” 

“We’ve gotta go through this again, huh?” Jim complained, but he sounded more amused than annoyed. “C’mere,” he said, rolling over to face Blair, moving right into his space and pulling him close. Blair surprised himself by going with it, sighing and relaxing into the embrace as Jim enveloped him in his arms. It was hard to do otherwise because, as he had recently discovered, Jim hugged so damned _well_. 

But even though it was incredible to be held and cherished like this, it didn’t take long before the strangeness of it hit Blair. He was in bed, being cuddled by his best friend. His best friend about whom, once upon a time, he’d had secret dreams about being in bed with under entirely different circumstances. And right now Jim, he of the smooth skin, impressively hard muscles and body like a Greek god (that Blair had only previously had opportunity to worship from a respectable distance), was pressed right up against Blair, practically _nude_. 

Blair really, really wished he hadn’t thought of that. He squirmed a little uncomfortably and, tuned into Blair’s mood as he seemed to be, Jim let go, allowing Blair to put a little bit of space between them. But there was no hiding his physical reaction from Jim, especially at this proximity, so Blair decided not to even try. “I’m sorry. I, uh, never meant to…” he tailed off, hoping that this wouldn’t make things awkward between them, especially after their closeness the night before. “There’s something I probably should have told you before now,” he confessed nervously, risking a glance at Jim’s face. 

Jim confounded him once more, by reaching out to touch Blair’s jaw briefly; a gentle, unmistakable caress. “You don’t have to tell me anything I haven’t already figured out,” he said. “I’m pretty observant. Some would say hyper-observant, but you know all about that, don’t you?” He smiled kindly, looking a little shy at the same time. “If it helps, I feel the same way about you. I have for a long time.” 

Blair was pretty observant too; he’d long-since intuited that the prickliness of their relationship in the months leading up to the inadvertent leaking of his dissertation had been due to an escalating mutual tension between them of a particularly un-platonic kind, although it had dissipated somewhat in the aftermath of that disaster. It seemed, given what Jim had just said, that he’d been right in that perception. 

“So,” Blair said, encouraged by Jim’s confession, oddly relieved that all their cards were finally on the table. He’d done quite a bit of baring his soul in the last twenty-four hours, and if he hadn’t driven Jim away already, it didn’t seem likely that this would do it either. “Where do we go from here?” 

Jim shrugged. “We’re already where we need to be,” he said. “Nothing’s changed. I’m here because I care about you, because I want to help, not because I want to get into your pants. Maybe someday the time will be right.” 

“What do you mean,” Blair asked, clearly sensing Jim’s reluctance, “someday? Aren’t we already there?” 

Jim reached out again, his hand so gentle on Blair’s face that it made him shiver. “I mean, this isn’t the right time to be getting into anything too intense,” he said. “Because I won’t do anything to make life harder for you, Blair. And I think, right now, there are only so many big changes in your life that you’ll be able to handle.” 

A rush of miserable shame shot through Blair; he knew rejection when he saw it. He was too damaged, too soiled for Jim to seriously consider him as more than a friend. Giving in to defeat he made to turn away, to hide his distress. 

But Jim reached out to him again and, powerless in the face of Jim’s tenderness, Blair couldn’t resist as he was drawn in. He was held protectively once more, soothing hands stroking away the brighter tendrils of his pain, the touch cherishing him in a way that Blair’s inner voice - the one which told him every minute of every day that he was worthless - failed somehow to refute, despite its best efforts. 

“Don’t think for one minute,” Jim told him insistently, holding him close, “that I don’t want you, or that you don’t deserve it. Because you’re an amazing guy, and you’re everything I ever wanted, in every way I can imagine. I love you, Blair. I can’t even begin to tell you how much. But making your life more complicated than it already is right now is not what I want, and I don’t think it’s what you need.” 

There was nothing Blair could say to dispute that because in his own most secret fantasies he’d always seen them as equal partners, two capable individuals drawn together by mutual attraction and respect. But he was broken, now. Too needy, too scared, and too messed-up. Even he could see that he was a poor choice of lover for someone as strong and resilient as Jim. 

“Hey,” Jim murmured to him. He’d obviously carried on speaking, unheard, while Blair had momentarily wallowed in misery. “You hearing this at all? You know I love you, right?” 

Blair nodded, accepting that this was as far as it was going to go. “Yeah,” he whispered, contenting himself with whatever Jim was able to give. “Yeah, I hear you, man.” For the time being it would have to be enough. It was certainly far more than he’d imagined, during the last few lonely months, that he’d ever get. 

*** 

Blair dozed not long off after that, clearly still exhausted, his head lying heavy with sleep against Jim’s chest, his cheek rasping slightly at the tender skin there every time Jim inhaled. After a while Jim shifted carefully, making sure not to wake him, gently sliding Blair’s head into a more comfortable position. He loved Blair dearly, but letting him inadvertently inflict whisker burn on his nipple was something he’d really rather avoid. 

Feeling inexpressively fond, Jim gazed at his sleeping friend. He’d meant it when he’d told Blair he loved him. Physical attraction was only part of it, even though he’d found Blair desirable for a very long time. It was more that Blair had gradually moved in to occupy so many spaces within his heart; partner, brother, friend, maybe someday-lover. All of these and more, something so many-faceted and vast it was impossible to define. 

Jim truly wanted to be everything to Blair, and he was gladder than he could say that their mutual attraction was out in the open at last. But Blair was so vulnerable right now, and Jim knew he’d feel like he was taking advantage if he was to pursue a sexual relationship with him at this time. Maybe once Blair had gotten things a little more together they could reconsider that option, if they both still wanted it. 

Jim studied Blair as he slept. In repose the tension, ever-present in Blair’s expression these days, was smoothed away, leaving behind the familiar, youthful face of the man he knew. The youthfulness was deceptive, of course; Blair was no longer the same ebullient and naïve young man that he’d been when they’d first met, because he’d had to grow up fast during the years he’d been at Jim’s side. That hadn’t been a bad thing, in Jim’s opinion. Working beside a cop inevitably came with a price, and it was one that Sandburg had been more than willing to pay. And, despite seeing and experiencing things that many civilians only ever dreamed of, Blair had retained his humor, his zest for life, becoming older and wiser but still the same _Blair_. He’d eventually brought all of that experience and all those good qualities into his work as a cop, and because of that he’d _excelled_ at it. 

It had been destined to be short-lived. The brutality he’d been subjected to by some of his fellow cops had destroyed his new career in its infancy, and changed Blair forever. 

Blair wasn’t the only one who’d changed (although without question his suffering had been the worst). Jim had also been irrevocably transformed by the atrocity inflicted upon his closest friend, his _partner,_ by men who were supposed to be their uniformed brothers. And he didn’t think he’d ever get past the anger of that betrayal, his outrage at what they’d done, or his immense feelings of guilt and remorse at not having been able to prevent it. 

Blair hadn’t asked what it was that had brought him here right now, at this time, and Jim hadn’t told him. But if Blair imagined that he’d been happily living his life back home, continuing to play super-cop and shooting the breeze with the guys at the station after work, then he was very, very wrong. 

But that was something he didn’t want to dwell upon, because he’d finally gotten to grips with what was important: being here for Blair and helping him get his life back together as best he could. And Jim was determined, now that he’d seen how much Blair needed help, that he would do everything in his power to provide it. 

Nothing else mattered to him; not anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

To Blair, everything seemed a little less intense, a little more in balance, once he finally woke up. Jim was already up and about, bustling around in the kitchen, and the delicious aroma of coffee beckoned Blair out of bed. He glanced at the clock on the VCR and found, to his surprise, that it was nearly noon. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept this late. 

They ate; good, wholewheat bread Jim had purchased the day before, free-range eggs (far tastier than the ones Blair usually picked up at the one grocery store he frequented), delicious, fresh fruit. It didn’t escape Blair’s notice that the food Jim had brought home was the kind of stuff he liked the best; wholesome, organic and delicious. Their manner with each other was light and relaxed, as though the profound closeness they’d developed last night and earlier this morning had washed away any lingering awkwardness between them. 

As their meal progressed Blair felt oddly calm and at peace, which was an emotion he was wholly unused to. It totally belied his embarrassment at laying his soul bare before Jim in the way he had. It was a measure, he supposed, of how safe Jim made him feel, and how much he truly needed a respite, however brief, from the constant stress that dominated his life. 

In the shower a short while later, Blair had something of an epiphany. He’d been striving ever since he left Cascade to achieve normality. To reach a state of being where fear was relegated to its proper place as a necessary indicator of real threat, rather than an ever-present, nebulous sense of terror which ambushed him at every turn. This morning, waking beside Jim and eating an unhurried breakfast with him, had been the closest he’d ever come to feeling like that since before the assault. 

He found, upon clear reflection born out of this unexpected reprieve, that he truly, honestly, did not want to continue to let fear dominate his life any more. 

If Blair searched inside himself he could feel that the fear was still there, lurking just under the surface of his thoughts, waiting to strike. All he’d need to do would be to go out of his apartment and head into unknown territory, or to see someone on the bus or in the street who reminded him of Lawrenson, or Eccles, or Kominski, and it would attack mercilessly. And those were just the big reminders: all he _really_ needed was for a clumsy server to drop a tray, and he was right back there, waiting for the next blow. 

As he allowed those thoughts the familiar sense of anxiety began to blossom, and Blair ruthlessly stomped it down before it could get a foothold. Then he smiled a little fondly when Jim’s voice came from behind the closed door. “Hey, are you okay, Chief?” 

Jim, the Sentinel with a capital S, was on duty, and right now that made all the difference. “Yeah,” Blair called out, “I’m fine, man. Just doing some thinking, but it’s all cool.” 

There was a pause, and Blair could imagine Jim sensing him through the door (the thought gave him goosebumps) testing to see if he really was all right. He must have been satisfied because, after a moment, Jim said, “Just call if you need me, all right?” and all went quiet after that, so Blair assumed he’d moved away. 

Blair took his time finishing up his shower, enjoying for once not being in a hurry to get out to work, or too paralyzed by anxiety to luxuriate in it. He got completely dressed before leaving the small room, despite the lack of space to maneuver in. He’d bared his soul, but he still had a lot of issues about baring his skin, even in front of Jim. 

As he acknowledged that particular hang-up, Blair had to ruefully admit that Jim had been absolutely right to insist that now was not the time for them to pursue a physical relationship. The disgust Blair felt about his own body was one of the many hurdles he would need to overcome before it would be possible for him even to contemplate allowing himself to be close to Jim in that way. The fact that he’d even managed to get an erection at all this morning was completely anomalous because, since the assault, Blair had been pretty much dead from the waist down, unable even to get a rise out of himself. He guessed that said something really profound about his trust in Jim, but he had to acknowledge that he definitely still had a long way to go. 

Jim cast him a concerned look as he emerged, and passed him a mug of coffee before both of them went to sit on the couch. Neither of them spoke, although the silence was more expectant than uncomfortable, and Blair was grateful that Jim was perceptive enough to give him space to gather his thoughts. 

“There’s some stuff I need to say,” Blair managed eventually, keeping his eyes fixed on the mug he held as he spoke. “I… I’m feeling pretty calm and safe right now, which is not all that usual for me since… well, you know. I’m fairly sure it’s because you’re here. You’ve been amazingly supportive, man. I really appreciate it. And… because you’ve been so great about everything, there’s something I need to ask you to do for me.” 

“Anything,” Jim promised. He smiled. “As long as you’re not going to ask me to get out of your life, Blair. I can do a lot for you, but I don’t think I can do that.” 

“I won’t ask you to do that, man. I can’t imagine I ever will.” Blair smiled back a little, then sobered once more. This was a big deal, and not easy to say. “Okay, here goes.” Blair took a deep breath. “I think it’s time for me to see someone. A therapist, I mean. Because I… I’m really tired of feeling scared all the time. It totally sucks, if you want to know the truth. And I don’t want to live like this. Not anymore.” 

“That’s great, Chief!” Jim’s approval was clear; not a surprise, he’d been urging Blair to do this very thing for a long time. 

But of course there was more to it than that. “The thing is,” Blair went on, “you might have noticed that I… I have a bit of a problem with breaking out of my comfort zone. I’ve known for a long time that I needed help, even though I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself. Because the thought of… of finding a therapist, calling a stranger, going to an unfamiliar office way across town to talk to someone I don’t even know about shit I can’t even tell _you_ about, when I have issues just going across the _street_ …” 

“I get it,” Jim told him decisively. “I’ll help you with that, Chief. Find the right doctor for you, make the calls. I’ll drive you there as well, if that’s what you need.” 

Blair nodded. “There’s something else I should say,” he confessed. “I’m certain, right at this moment, that this is what I need to do. But give me an hour or two and I’ll probably change my mind. I… I’m not saying you should try to force me into it, as if you _could_ anyway, man! I’m just saying that there’s a chance, once I’m feeling a little less secure than I am right now, that I might want to back out, and I’d really appreciate some encouragement if that happens.” 

Jim nodded his agreement. “I understand, Blair. It’s okay. You don’t need to face any of this alone, buddy. Not now I’m here.” 

“You won’t be here forever, though,” Blair noted, his stomach knotting painfully at the thought. Jesus, after just two days with Jim he’d become so goddamned dependent on him already. “I’m gonna need to learn to handle this stuff by myself pretty quickly. But if you can just help me out with getting started, I’d be so grateful, man. I can’t tell you what a huge thing you’d be doing for me.” 

“I’ll be here as long as you need me,” Jim said reassuringly. “I already told you, I’m not in any hurry to go home. But let’s just take it one step at a time, huh? I’ll make some calls, get some recommendations, arrange an initial appointment. Like I said, I’ll take you there as well, and I’ll stay around until you’re done.” He nudged Blair with his leg. “I’ll even hold your hand if you want me to.” 

Blair nodded, a lump in his throat. God, he loved Jim so much. Recognizing that he was on the verge of yet another emotional blowout, and not wanting to make an idiot of himself again, he just murmured, “Thanks.” 

***

Jim wasted no time in following through on his promise. He called someone he knew in Cascade, a clinical psychologist he’d become acquainted with, who immediately tapped into her professional grapevine to get him some details about therapists in the area.  

One in particular seemed to fit the bill: a psychiatrist whose area of specialty was to work with survivors of trauma and abuse. As soon as he’d gotten the number, Jim made the call. Thanks to the timely miracle of a last-minute cancellation he managed to get an initial appointment for later that afternoon.  

Blair was appalled when Jim told him. “Today? Man, that’s too soon! I’m nowhere _near_ ready to see anyone today!”  

But Jim was adamant. “What makes you think,” he said, “that you’ll be any more ready tomorrow, or a week from now? Come on, Chief. And hey, remember what you said earlier? You predicted that you’d react like this, and I promised I wouldn’t let you back out.”  

“Yeah, well I wasn’t expecting it to happen _today_. Plus, you promised to give me some encouragement,” Blair shook his head mournfully, “not be a fucking, pushy _asshole_.”  

“Yeah,” Jim grinned, pulling the clearly reluctant Blair into his embrace. “That’s the argumentative little shit I know and love. See? You’re getting better already.”  

“Fuck you, man,” Blair grouched, punching him half-heartedly on the back, before sighing and relaxing into the hug. Then, more plaintively. “You’ll come there with me, right?” 

 “Every step of the way,” Jim promised faithfully, holding tight.  

***

Despite all his fears and misgivings, Blair survived the initial psychiatric consultation intact. And the following day, after a restless night spent once again sleeping next to Jim, he also managed to get through his first appointment with Joe Blake, a cognitive behavioral therapist the psychiatrist had referred him to. Once more the stars seemed to be in alignment because the guy just happened to have a last-minute cancellation that morning. Having always believed that everything happens for a reason, Blair could only assume that fate was pressing him to deal with this thing _right now_. He therefore made a decision to grasp the opportunity with both hands and give his best shot. 

They weren’t easy, those initial ventures into his psyche, and he expected that there would be times when it would be even harder to handle. But Blair had a pretty good grounding in psychology, and he understood better than most what the processes he’d begun actually entailed. That perhaps made it easier to trust that he was doing the right thing, because trust most definitely did not come easily for him these days. 

The jargon bandied about as his diagnosis came as no surprise. Panic disorder accompanied by agoraphobia, with a significant helping of PTSD on the side. He was prescribed anti-anxiety medication, and on Joe Blake’s advice made an arrangement to go in for two therapy sessions a week. A follow-up appointment with his psychiatrist was scheduled in four weeks, to review how he was coping on the meds. 

Blair inevitably fretted about money, his meager health insurance unlikely to make much of a dent in the costs of his treatment. But when he expressed his misgivings Jim delivered some surprising information that Blair truly didn’t expect. “Simon’s been pushing really hard for you to get compensation out of the P.D. You were forced out of your job by the illegal actions of other cops, and he feels that there should be some recognition of that. He’s pretty much single-handedly gotten Chief Warren to agree to a cash settlement,” he said. “I know you told me before you left that you didn’t want to sue the department. But he felt – we all feel – that you’re owed this. In the end, it’s nowhere near as much as I believe it should be, but it’s still a sizeable chunk. If you don’t want it give it to charity or something, it’s yours, it’s up to you what you do with it. But if I were you I’d use it to pay your medical bills. You’ve got enough to deal with as it is without worrying about money as well.” 

Blair had only just gotten home after his first session with Joe Blake, and still felt a little too raw to know how to react. One thing did surprise him, though, even as shaky as he was. “And you were meaning to tell me this when, exactly?” he demanded. “That’s a pretty huge deal, man. You’ve been here for four days. Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

Jim shrugged. “I just didn’t think to tell you about it until now,” he said. “I guess I’ve been a little preoccupied with other stuff since I got here.” He smiled. “Let me have your bank details, and I’ll call Simon in the morning and arrange for the money to be transferred into your account.” 

Blair let it go at that, not really in any shape to pursue answers right then. But he had an odd feeling about it all, and vaguely wondered if there was anything else Jim wasn’t telling him.


	8. Chapter 8

He didn’t want this. He really wanted to be anywhere rather than _here_. “Please,” he gasped, fighting for breath. He was on his knees, his hands bound behind him, his bare legs numb and unfeeling on the cold concrete. 

But they just laughed mockingly. “You dirty fucking fag. Stop whining - we’re just washing you clean, boy.” 

Water ran into his eyes, his nose, dripping across his face from what was left of his hair. “We should shave the rest of that shit off,” one of them was saying. “It’s not short enough - he still looks like a fucking girl.” 

A punishing hand grasped the unevenly hacked-short strands at the back of his head. “Not yet,” the guy said, gripping painfully hard and shaking Blair’s head from side to side. “This gives me something to grip onto. We can do it later, unless he drowns having his bath first.” 

As they all laughed at this latest bit of wit as though it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard, Blair gazed with dread at the bowl on the floor in front of him, filled with filthy, ice-cold water. They were going to do it again, he absolutely understood, fatalistic despair consuming him. They’d keep on doing it until they’d had enough or he was dead, whichever came first. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them. 

He barely had a chance to fill his lungs before he was forced forward once more, down, down under the water, his struggles impotent, his lungs burning with the need to breathe, to _not_ breathe; his face mashed mercilessly against the bottom of the bowl, and nothing in his mind except the desperate need to hold on... hold on... 

“Blair.” 

He couldn’t breathe; _mustn’t_ breathe. 

“Blair, come on. Hey, it’s okay.” 

He was gonna die if he breathed, die if he _didn’t_. And, despite wanting so desperately to live, he couldn’t hold out any longer. Helplessly he gasped a breath but, just as he’d dreaded, water filled his lungs instead of air. Suffocating, dying, drowning... 

“Hey, buddy, come on. Ease up. Breathe, Blair. Keep breathing. You can do it, come on.” 

He found it, then, unexpectedly; a clean edge of air, sharply piercing his burning lungs so that it was agony to take it in. He grasped at it, tried desperately to pull it inside, despite the pain it caused him. “Easy,” Jim said. “Try to breathe steady, breathe slow. Come on, Chief, I’ve got you. You’re okay.” 

Jim. _Jim_ was here. Blair’s sudden recognition of his friend’s voice brought him abruptly out of nightmare. He was in his own bed, in Jim’s arms, not naked and bound on a concrete floor, not drowning in six inches of water. It was okay to breathe, and he wouldn’t die when he did. 

Jim talked him through it, holding him close. “In, and out. And again, Chief, come on. Slow and steady. You’re safe; you’re safe.” Blair found that he had been hauled upright between Jim’s outstretched legs, and positioned with his back leaning against Jim’s chest. Jim’s arms were around him and Blair was being rocked gently from side to side. A comforting hand was rubbing gently at Blair’s chest under his tee-shirt, easing the agony of every imperfect inhalation. 

All pride gone, knowing only that Jim cared, and that he could rely on him to see him though even his darkest nightmares, Blair relaxed and slumped exhaustedly back against his friend’s body. And when his breathing finally settled into a normal pattern, marred only by intermittent, silent crying, he didn’t resist when Jim urged him to lie down and rolled him into his arms. Eyes closed, Blair felt Jim kiss him on the forehead before tucking the comforter up around his neck and pulling him close; giving him everything, and demanding nothing. 

*** 

The next morning Blair was quiet and withdrawn, but he seemed fairly calm so Jim decided not to broach the specter of his nightmare. If Blair needed to talk he’d listen, but he was not about to push. 

But Jesus, Jim couldn’t help but acknowledge that the kid had been in a bad way; had really scared him, in fact. He’d woken to Blair’s strangled cries and had actually been afraid, for a few awful moments when he couldn’t get Blair to wake up, that his friend was having a heart attack. It was only when he’d extended his senses and heard the regular (though accelerated) pounding of Blair’s heart that he’d realized Blair was simply lost in bad dreams. 

Eventually, as they sat finishing off their breakfast Blair murmured, “I just want to say. Last night, it... it really helped that you were here.” He looked up to fix a look of naked gratitude on Jim. “Thanks Jim.” He swallowed, his emotion clear. “I really mean it. And not just that; getting me into therapy, being here generally, all of it. It means the world to me.” 

Jim smiled, massively relieved that Blair seemed so inclined, after his initial reluctance, to feel comfortable relying on him. “No problem, Chief,” Jim said. But he couldn’t help airing his curiosity, now that Blair had raised the issue. “Do you have nightmares like that often?” 

Blair smiled ruefully. “Yeah, you know. It happens now and again. But hey,” he said, looking earnestly at Jim, “like I told you, I’m fine if I stick to routine. I know I’ve been a little flaky since you got here, but I don’t want you to think I’m falling apart like this all the time, I’m not! I mean, I manage to hold down a job, right? I couldn’t do that if I was a complete wreck. It’s just – and no offense man, don’t take this the wrong way – you being here has pretty much knocked my usual routine on its head, hence all the freak-outs the past few days. And I guess the whole therapy thing will take some adjusting to. What I’m trying to say is, there’s a chance some things might get worse before they get better, if you know what I mean. And... and I just want to make sure you’re okay with that. If you’re planning on sticking around for a while, that is.” 

“Whatever it takes, Blair, I’m here,” Jim insisted. “I’m not gonna run out on you, not for any reason. I’ve got your back, buddy.” _This time_ , Jim’s conscience insisted, berating him in its familiar manner. _Because you were no fucking use when it mattered_. 

Blair was nodding. “Thanks, Jim. I... I really appreciate it. And, you know, I understand that you can’t stay here forever. You’ll have to go back to Cascade soon, right? I don’t want you to neglect your own responsibilities just because I’m having some adjustment issues.” Blair nodded, his determination plain. “I’m gonna get through this. I’m gonna get my life back together, and I’m not gonna waste the help you’ve given me to get back on track. I really mean that.” 

“That’s great,” Jim said, reaching out and capturing Blair’s skittish hand in his own. “I’m proud of you, buddy; I know you can do it, because that’s just who you are. I don’t have any doubts.” 

Blair blinked, obviously trying hard to keep himself in check, which Jim couldn’t help but admire considering how emotionally charged their discussion had been. But there was one bit of reassurance he could give, even though he wasn’t ready to unload the whole truth just yet. “Blair, Simon’s given me his blessing to take as much time as I need. I don’t need to go back to Cascade for a while yet; a few weeks, at least. Don’t worry about that, all right? I’ll be here as long as you need me.” 

Naked relief skittered across Blair’s face, and Jim knew he’d done the right thing to reassure him in that way. “Weeks?” Blair said. “Man, that’s... wow, you can stay that long?” 

“Yeah,” Jim confirmed. “I’m not planning on heading back anytime soon.” 

His inner voice added: _make that never_. 

*** 

Now Blair had taken the plunge and gotten into therapy, he was determined to give it his best shot and make it work. 

He’d long since recognized that he couldn’t go on as he was, enduring day-after-excruciating-day hovering on the edge of almost constant panic instead of actually living his life. Until now, however, it had been virtually impossible for him to dig himself out of the hole he’d sunk into. He’d been utterly paralyzed by the thought of the seemingly insurmountable obstacles in his path, which had prevented him from even contemplating looking for the help he knew he needed. 

Jim had acted as the vital catalyst to bring about the long-needed transformation in Blair’s life. He’d arranged Blair’s appointments and literally held him by the hand as he took those first steps. As a consequence Blair was determined to use the precious gift Jim had given him wisely, and embrace this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity wholeheartedly. 

It troubled him, however, that he’d already become so dependent on Jim; a dependence, as he saw it, born out of desperation and neediness. He understood how critical Jim’s support had already been to him, and he would no doubt continue to value and draw upon it in the time to come. But it was important to Blair that he not become even more of a burden to Jim than he already was, nor that he retreat even further into his comfort zone just because he suddenly had someone to rely on (especially when that someone would, at some point, inevitably leave him to cope alone). 

They were running short of supplies so, despite feeling like nothing more than hiding away in his apartment and licking his wounds, Blair suggested on Saturday that they head out grocery shopping, and Jim agreed. Normally Blair used the local bus service to visit the store he usually frequented, and only buy what he could comfortably carry home again. But Jim offered to drive them there on this occasion, so they ended up stocking up on comfort food of all kinds. Best of all, Blair found that, in Jim’s company, the excursion was nowhere near the ordeal he usually found it to be; in fact it was quite the opposite. In Jim’s company he felt safe; maybe even _normal_ , if you discounted the ever-present tightness in his gut and the overwhelming sense of vulnerability he felt which never really went away. 

At his initial psychiatry appointment it had been suggested that Blair take some time out from his job, at least until he was more settled into therapy, but he had decided against it, and made plans to go back to work on Monday. 

Holding down his job had long-since become a matter of pride to Blair; practically the only source of pride he had left, in fact, after he’d been brutally robbed of so much of it. If he could keep making himself go out to work each morning, to perform his usual routine tasks and see it through without losing it until the end of the day, then he figured he’d done well. 

It sure beat the alternative. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he ever found himself unable to step over the threshold of his apartment and ride the familiar bus, that it would be impossible for him to leave home ever again. And if that happened his life, such as it was, would be _over_. 

That’s why, when Monday morning dawned, Blair insisted on turning down Jim’s offer to drive him into work. “If I stop doing the things I already _know_ I can do, just because you’re helping," he’d said. “then I’m taking a step backward. I can’t afford to do that, especially not now when I really need to move _forward_.” 

Jim apparently saw the sense in that, and immediately backed off. Instead, he launched straight in to talking Blair into meeting him for lunch instead. “Nowhere unusual, just that same place we went to last week,” he said. 

Blair’s stomach churned at the memory of his freak-out in the restaurant, and his embarrassment at Jim having to lie for him to divert attention away while he recovered. “I… I don’t know if I can,” he said, his face heating up with shame. 

But Jim didn’t seem about to give up so easily. “Come on, Chief,” he said encouragingly. “You had a bad few moments, but we got through it. Unless the servers start juggling trays again, you’ll be fine.” 

“It’s all downhill from here, huh?” Blair retorted, unconvinced. His dread of overreacting in public had gone a long way towards him redefining and shrinking the boundaries of his world, narrowing it down to home (where no one could see him), work (where everyone assumed he was nuts anyway) and his regular grocery store (without which he would starve). 

The past few days, during which he’d visited the diner and two unfamiliar doctor’s offices, had been a weird aberration which he’d gotten through only because Jim had been by his side. One-too-many times hyperventilating where others could see him had made him hyper-cautious, to the extent that even considering going somewhere other than his usual places of relative safety brought him out in a cold sweat. The prospect of revisiting someplace where he’d _already_ freaked out made it ten times worse. 

“I’m not going to push,” Jim told him, clearly sensing Blair’s unhappy reluctance. “It’s really not a huge deal to me, either way. But look at it this way, Chief. The place itself doesn’t scare you, right? You were doing fine until you got startled. And once you got your breath back and realized what had happened and that you were safe, you were okay.” 

“Only because you were there,” Blair countered. 

“I’ll be there today as well. What’s the worst that can happen, huh?” 

Blair took a deep breath, then released it. It was going to be like this from now on, he understood. Now he was in therapy he would be obliged to work to reclaim lost territory one painful step at a time, conquering his irrational fears as he went. The medication he’d been prescribed would no doubt help, but it was entirely up to him to take his own definitive steps on the road to recovery. 

The difference, right at this moment, was that Jim was here with him. Once he left, Blair would have to do this stuff on his own, which would be a whole lot harder. It made sense for him to take advantage of that fact, and to get as much of his equilibrium back as possible while he still had Jim's support on hand. 

His mind made up - despite his churning stomach - Blair nodded. “You’re right, man,” he said. “Let’s do it.” He laughed shortly, still embarrassed and nervous despite his acquiescence. “Hey, you’ve already seen me at my worst, right? I guess if it hasn’t chased you off yet, then we’re good.” 

Jim reached out, and grasped Blair’s hands in his own. “We only do this if you want to,” he said sincerely. “If I ever push you too hard, you tell me to back off, okay? I don’t want to be part of the problem, Blair. I want to help you find a solution. But,” he grinned, “I’d really like to try another one of those burgers. Wonderburger it ain’t, but it’s still pretty good.” 

The sincerity of Jim’s concern warmed Blair right through, even as he shook his head at the glint in Jim’s eye at the prospect of half-a-pound of flame-grilled beef. 

Back at work in the bookstore, Blair fell easily back into the role that he’d built for himself: that of a quiet, unassuming and mostly invisible store assistant, who preferred to get on with his work without distractions. It was all so unremarkable, so routine, he could almost believe that nothing in his life had changed. 

But it had, changed, of course. And that was clearly apparent when lunchtime rolled around, and Jim came into the store. “You ready, Chief?” he said. 

Blair nodded and, after a brief word with Mike to alert him that he was taking a break, he headed out. 

After all of Blair’s trepidation, lunch at the restaurant where he’d previously made such an ass of himself went by with no drama or stress at all. They ate and chatted, just as if eating out was a normal daily occurrence; just as it was, in fact, for many regular people. Jim sat beside Blair in their booth, crowding him a little in an unobtrusively protective way. He was, Blair considered with amusement, like a big, walking comfort blanket, shielding him not only from the ordinary stuff that he normally found daunting, but from his own irrational fears as well. 

As they were finishing up their meals, Jim reached into his coat pocket and slid a cell phone along the table to Blair. “This is for you,” he said. 

Blair looked down at it, then up at Jim questioningly. 

Jim picked up the phone, pressed a couple of buttons, then showed Blair the display. “I’ve saved my number here, in case you need to reach me for any reason. Your therapist’s number is there too, and your psychiatrist. The thing is,” he said reaching out to press it into Blair’s hand, “the only person who knows the number of this phone is me. No one’s going to be calling you on it; no one apart from me, anyway, and I won’t call you at all unless you say it’s okay.” 

Blair felt a little overwhelmed. They hadn’t discussed this particular phobia of his, but Jim had apparently picked up on it anyway. Blair hated unsolicited contact of any kind. It had gotten much worse the last few months, resulting in his current hermit-like state in which he was totally unable to switch on the cell phone he kept at home, or handle anyone in his personal space. 

Anyone apart from Jim, it seemed. 

“I… I can’t promise I’ll use it,” he confessed, allowing his fingers to curl around the unexpected gift. “But… I really appreciate this, man.” 

Jim looked pleased, and maybe a little bit relieved. “Okay,” he said “It’s totally up to you, no sweat.” And, much to Blair’s relief, he left the matter there. 

The rest of Blair’s day at work went by without incident, and that evening Blair came home to find Jim waiting for him, dinner already cooked, the tiny, barren apartment infused with an incongruous essence of home. 

The rest of the week progressed in a similar manner, punctuated only by therapy sessions which convinced Blair, once and for all, that he was doing the right thing. Joe Blake’s emphasis was more on developing strategies to enable him to better cope with his day-to-day life rather than a constant rehashing of what had brought his problems about in the first place, which was somewhat of a relief. The process was painful on occasion, certainly; dealing explicitly with his fears was a constant challenge for Blair, which often left him feeling vulnerable and inadequate. But he made progress, nevertheless, even if sometimes it seemed like one step forward and two steps back. And the more progress he made the more determined he became to keep working at it, and so get his life back on track for good. 

To Blair’s everlasting gratitude, Jim’s arms were always open and ready for Blair during those intermittent moments when he got ambushed by memory, or disheartened by the mountain he still had left to climb. And they continued to sleep side by side every night in bed, neither of them shying away from the inevitable, casual touches which ensued. To Blair’s cautious delight their touches became less casual after a time; still full of comfort and not at all erotic, but beginning to move slowly toward something else, something deeper. Not quite there yet, but perhaps subtly setting out on the path. For Blair, who had for so long regarded himself as completely soiled and undesirable, that was an amazing gift indeed.


	9. Chapter 9

One afternoon, when Jim picked Blair up from work to take him to his therapy session, he was driving a nice-looking 1975 Chevrolet Nova instead of the sedan he’d rented. “I bought it from a dealer downtown,” he admitted, when Blair expressed his surprise. “The other one was costing me a fortune. I want to stay mobile while I’m here, but not by throwing all my money at a rental company. This made sense, since I’m planning to stay for a while longer.” He patted the hood of the car. “This little beauty wasn’t too expensive,” he said. “I thought maybe, when I go, you could take her off my hands. It’d be useful, wouldn’t it, if you had a car?” 

“Jim, you can’t buy me a car!” Blair was appalled. 

“I’m _not_ buying you a car,” Jim countered. “I’m buying one for myself, then selling it to you when I leave. Now that you’ve got some money to spare, you should be able to afford it - I’ll let you have her at a good price.” He shrugged. “I’ll sell to someone else, if you’re not interested. It’s no big deal.” 

The compensation Blair had been granted by Cascade PD – a scarily massive six-figure sum – had manifested in his bank account the previous week, so money certainly wasn’t an issue any longer. And this Chevy sure was a sweet little ride, he had to admit, and driving would be infinitely better than riding the bus everywhere. “So,” Blair ran a measuring eye over it, and decided to test a theory. “Can I drive it now?” 

“Go ahead,” Jim said easily. “I put your name on the insurance policy as a regular driver.” 

“Oh, man.” Jim, he understood full well, had absolutely done this with him in mind. This was yet another covert caring gesture like the phone, framed in terms of simple practicality. Jim knew that Blair had been too scared since he’d arrived here to go through the motions of buying a car, and that getting around in general was something he still found really hard to do. 

“You’re transparent, you know that?” Blair told him in an exasperated voice, as he accepted the keys. “Come on,” he said, getting in the driver’s side. “Let’s see what this baby can do.” 

Jim just grinned smugly as he got into the passenger seat, happily stretching out his long legs to enjoy the ride. 

Another week passed after that, then a third, the safe boundaries of Blair’s world expanding during that time, then retreating, then expanding a little more as he painstakingly worked to find his way through the maze. He had to admit, despite still having a considerable way to go, that he was already far happier than he’d been for an eternity. He was far from cured of his issues, but he was in an infinitely stronger and more positive position than he’d been when Jim had first arrived. 

The only cloud on his horizon, as time went on, was the ever-present knowledge that it couldn’t last forever. Jim would eventually leave, probably sooner rather than later, and then Blair would have to carry on striving to reclaim his life alone. Because no matter how much he longed for the two of them to stay together, going back to Cascade was an option he could never consider for himself. 

***

Knowing Blair as well as he did, the determination with which his friend threw himself into the process of recovery didn’t come as any surprise to Jim. In true Sandburg fashion Blair embraced the challenges posed by therapy with a will, pushing his limits constantly and barely cutting himself the slightest amount of slack. He continued to lean on Jim for emotional support when he needed it, but for the most part utilized his own considerable inner strength to make progress. 

Jim couldn’t help but admire that evidence of Blair’s returning strength of spirit. He’d been horrified to see how low his friend had sunk, how frightened and vulnerable and trapped in a cycle of impotent despair he’d become. Watching him doggedly climb step by painful step out of that deep, dark hole was the most courageous thing Jim had ever witnessed, which was truly saying something, considering the numerous other displays of Blair’s courage he’d seen throughout the years they’d known each other. 

Their physical closeness continued, Blair seeming to take great comfort from having Jim sleep beside him in bed every night, especially during the all-too-frequent times he was shaken out of a deep sleep by bad dreams. He rarely seemed inclined to talk about whatever it was that had woken him on those occasions, and usually drifted back to sleep again easily just as soon as he knew where he was and who was beside him. 

Or, more to the point, who was _holding_ him. 

Gradually, inevitably, the physical contact they indulged in on those desperate occasions, as well as the affection which openly lay between them at all other times, began to morph into a different kind of closeness. As Blair became generally more confident in his day-to-day life, the artificial barriers that Jim had erected to prevent him from taking advantage of Blair’s vulnerability began to erode. A reassuring hug would more often than not turn into a caress, until at last the time came that lips found willing lips in the darkness. 

It didn’t go any further than kisses, though. Blair still had plenty of hang-ups, seeming more than a little uncomfortable in his own skin a lot of the time, and apparently embarrassed to reveal too much of it even to Jim’s appreciative eyes. Jim could tell that Blair was often turned on by their increasingly more intimate petting, but there was no sense of urgency about their tender mutual touches, and that was fine by Jim (even if he occasionally felt an urge, when Blair was out at work, to privately take matters into his own hands). The last thing he wanted, after the humiliating ordeal Blair had been through, was to make him feel uncomfortable or pressured in any way. If anything more was meant to happen between them it would happen in its own good time and not before, and that was exactly how Jim wanted it to be. 

So for the most part Jim stood on the sidelines like a cheerleader, watching yet not interfering as Blair moved forward, then fell, then picked himself up to move forward again. But if sometimes he felt an uncontrollable urge to step in and spare Blair the next fall, well who could blame him? 

Buying a car had been one of those times he’d aimed to spare Blair just a little pain, because so many of his problems seemed related to the fact that he found it traumatic and difficult to get around. Jim had gone out of his way to find something he knew his friend would like; a well-maintained Chevy Nova, something reliable yet likely to whet Blair’s classic-car appetite enough to overcome his pride and reluctance. And it had worked. Blair liked to drive; was good at it, in fact, and definitely liked the Chevy. He’d quickly taken to driving himself to and from work and, after four weeks in therapy, had even driven to see his therapist a couple of times by himself.

In general Blair was making great progress. He’d learned some deep breathing and visualization techniques that he practiced diligently, and it was clear to Jim that he was becoming less and less frightened of going to new places and being out in public, even during the occasions when Jim did not go with him to give moral support. Blair had also begun to work, with the support of his therapist, on determining what some of the specific triggers were for his panic attacks. And instead of avoiding those triggers, as he’d been subconsciously doing all this time, he’d begun to address them head-on. 

But no matter Blair’s determination and courage, the process did not come without pain. Intermittently Blair’s fearfulness would return full-force, especially when he pushed himself hard, and he gratefully took what comfort he could from Jim at those times, even as he simultaneously became exasperated with himself for his neediness. “What’s that you always told me about warrior societies, huh?” Jim said lightly, to reassure him on one such occasion. “You know, how they lived in these naturally touchy-feely cultures, which bonded them together and gave them the strength of their brothers to draw on. Isn’t that just what we’re doing here?” 

Blair pushed himself out of Jim’s embrace to look at him. He was still drawn and pale after his momentary relapse, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. “I can’t believe you actually listened to me talk about that stuff, let alone _remember_ any of it,” he said. “But I gotta tell you, man. I couldn’t feel much less like a warrior than I do right now. And I’m not sure that brotherly is exactly the word I’d use to describe my feelings for you.” 

Jim shrugged. “Seems pretty appropriate to me. Though I’ve got to agree with you about the brother thing,” he said. He reached out and gently smoothed a hand over Blair’s hair; a gesture that, in the days when they had truly been brothers-in-arms, would have been a prelude to a noogie, and one that Blair would probably have rebuffed with an irritated swat. 

Now, instead, it was a prelude to a kiss, and Blair didn’t object at all. 

So focused was Jim on helping Blair win his battle, he’d completely lost sight of the fact that he was fighting one of his own. And it didn’t take much to push his own demons to the fore: just one arrogant, drunken idiot, who thought he owned the road.


	10. Chapter 10

Blair felt pretty good today, he had to admit. He’d taken a day’s vacation, and Jim had driven them out of the city to explore some of the things that the wider area had to offer, but which Blair had not previously been in a position to take advantage of. 

They’d gone to see a couple of museums in Raleigh, had lunch in a really nice restaurant out in the sticks, and now it was mid-afternoon and they were heading through the wooded countryside toward home. Jim had polished off a beer with his meal so Blair, who hadn’t really drunk alcohol at all since he’d left Cascade (and was largely avoiding it now due to the meds he was taking) volunteered to drive on the way back. 

It was funny, Blair mused, that he thought of this car – _Jim’s_ car – as somehow _theirs_. As though they were truly a couple, and shared everyday things such as this as part of their life together. 

The fact that this – all of it – was temporary, caused a familiar pang of almost-grief. Predictably picking up on Blair’s dip in mood as though he had some kind of funky Blair-radar, Jim laid a comforting hand on his arm. “You okay, Chief?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Blair waved him off, banishing the morose thought determinedly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, you know, thinking about stuff. It’s all cool.” 

Seemingly mollified, Jim backed off, but Blair could feel his eyes upon him at intervals as he drove. He imagined Jim scanning him, listening to the processes of his body, ascertaining whether he was truly okay. It should have made him feel uncomfortable and violated, that level of scrutiny, but instead it made him feel protected and cared for. 

 _Jeez, Sandburg_ , he told himself wryly. _You’ve got issues, man!_  

Nevertheless, Jim would not be here forever, which was one reason Blair was working so hard to get it together as quickly as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was squander the opportunity that Jim had given him; this one real chance to get his life back together. He needed to be in a position where he would not immediately backslide the minute Jim left him alone, and he very much suspected that Jim had stayed with him this long for the same reason. 

As he did every single day, Blair considered that he should probably ask Jim when he planned to go back to Cascade. And every day he put it off, dreading to hear the words he didn’t want to hear. Today was no exception. Jim was right here beside him, it was a beautiful day, and they’d had a really nice time doing something different without Blair freaking out at all. It was far more than he’d thought, just a short while ago, that he’d ever have. 

Filled suddenly with gratitude and optimism, Blair turned to smile at Jim, and was utterly captivated when Jim smiled back, all white teeth and loose-limbed happiness. 

That single moment of inattention was all it took. Time slowed as Blair turned his head back to the otherwise empty road, only to see – far too late! - a truck pull out of a side road right in front of him, turn the corner and, for some inexplicable reason, stop dead right in the middle of the road. 

Blair slammed on the brake without a second thought, reflexes kicking in immediately. Brakes squealing, the Chevy slammed into the back of the truck, Blair lurching punishingly hard against his seatbelt as they thudded to a halt. 

Winded and shocked, Blair stayed where he was, his hands gripping tight to the wheel. Dimly he was aware that he wasn’t hurt and that the car seemed to be mostly in one piece; they had been too close for its forward momentum to be completely halted when he braked, but he’d gotten it slowed down enough to minimize the impact. 

Blair knew he should turn to check on Jim, but found himself utterly unable to look away as the driver whose truck he’d hit launched himself out of his vehicle and marched angrily in his direction. A few steps more and the guy wrenched open Blair’s door. “You stupid fucking bastard, look what you’ve done to my fucking truck!” he shouted, his face twisted with fury. 

Unable to speak, unable to move, Blair didn’t even realize that Jim had gotten out of the car until the guy yelling in his face was torn bodily away. One glimpse of Jim’s enraged face as he did so was enough to break Blair’s paralysis. 

“Jim!” he tried to shout, but his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. He heard the sickening crack of flesh connecting with flesh as the two men spun away from him, which spurred him on to move faster. Doggedly he uncurled his cramping fingers and made himself unhook the seatbelt and jerkily push himself out of the open door. 

Jim had slammed the truck driver up against the side of the truck, and was holding him there with his arm across the guy’s throat. The man’s right eye was already swelling where Jim had punched him, and his lips were beginning to turn blue as he fought to breathe. 

The murderous expression on Jim’s face scared Blair badly. Terrified that if Jim didn’t let go right now he was actually going to kill the guy, Blair licked lips made dry with shock and managed to find his voice. “Jim,” he said hoarsely, urgently. “Jim, let him go.” When Jim didn’t ease up, Blair placed a hand carefully on his arm. “Please, Jim,” he urged. “Don’t do this. It was an accident, man.” He rubbed the tense muscle under his hand. “Hey, I’m all right. I’m not hurt, man, and neither are you. No one’s hurt. It’s no big deal. Let it go, Jim. Please.” 

The tension in Jim’s face slowly ebbed as Blair spoke. He turned to look at Blair, his expression suddenly anguished, then to Blair’s immense relief, he pulled back and released his grip. 

The truck driver slumped and sucked in a big gasp of air, then another. “You’re a fucking lunatic,” he gasped out at Jim. “I’m calling the fucking cops. You tried to kill me, you asshole! I'll make sure they get you for attempted murder.” 

Jim leaned in dangerously close, making the man recoil and Blair’s heart pound with renewed fear, but all he did was sniff conspicuously. “Will that be before or after they arrest you for driving under the influence, huh, Sport?” he said. 

“Hey, hey!” Blair spoke urgently. He was terrified that Jim might truly get arrested for assaulting this idiot, and desperately tried to smooth things over. “We don’t need to involve the cops, all right? Let’s all just calm down,” he pleaded, willing Jim to hear him. He addressed the truck driver. “I’ll give you my address. Send me the bill, okay? I’ll pay for any damage.” 

“Like hell you will, Sandburg,” Jim snapped. “This bozo’s the one at fault - he smells like he bathed in Jim Beam, and he pulled right out in front of you. He’s not fit to be on the road.” 

“You saying I’m drunk?” the guy said belligerently, and it was abundantly clear to Blair, now Jim wasn’t throttling him, that he _was_ drunk. “You asshole!” Apparently not wishing to tangle with Jim he swerved an uncoordinated punch towards Blair instead, but Jim immediately stepped in front to block it and in seconds had him restrained again, much to Blair’s consternation. To his concurrent relief, however, Jim’s initial rage seemed to have passed, and he didn’t hold him tighter than was necessary to keep him contained. 

Blair addressed the driver, who was struggling ineffectually in Jim’s grip. “Hey, listen,” he said, getting the man’s attention. “I’ve got no problem with you. You walk away now, or if you like we can call someone to come get you, and you can come back later when you’re sober to get your truck, okay? Let’s just leave it at that. No harm done. You don’t need a drunk driving charge on your record, right? And even worse, you get in that thing in this state and you’re gonna kill somebody, man, or maybe even _yourself_.” 

“What about my money?” the guy whined, apparently suffering from a death wish since Jim still had an arm loosely around his neck. “You said you’d pay!” 

“That heap of junk you’re driving is not even scratched,” Jim snarled into his ear, before finally letting the guy go. “Don’t think for a minute that my friend here owes you a dime. If anything it’s the other way round, chum.” 

The guy held up his hands in defeat. “All right, all right, forget it. But don’t think you’re getting any money out of _me_ , asswipe.” He glared at Blair. “You should look where you’re fucking going.” He moved away, clearly deciding that retreat was his best option. “I’ll walk back up to my friend’s house and get a ride home.” Jim let him go at that, and he set off walking back up the side road he’d pulled out of. Even Blair could clearly hear him muttering as he went, “Assholes. Fucking stupid _assholes_ …” 

“Man needs to expand his vocabulary,” Jim muttered. Then he looked over at Blair. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?” 

Blair nodded, feeling suddenly drained and shaky. “I guess,” he said. 

Jim nodded at him understandingly, then made his way over to the abandoned truck. After checking to see that the guy had left his keys in the ignition he climbed in and started the engine, then pulled it away from the front of their Chevy to park it safely over at the side of the road. 

When Jim had finished he lobbed the keys into a patch of grass on the roadside. “He’ll be able to find them when he’s sobered up enough to see straight,” he said matter-of-factly. Then Blair watched, vaguely aware that he wasn’t being much help, as Jim walked back to the Chevy and cast an eye over the bumper. It was barely dented; the crash had definitely felt worse than it actually was. “It doesn’t look too bad,” Jim said. “These babies are built to last.” He glanced over at Blair again, his concern clear, even though he was making an obvious effort to allow him space to deal. “Want me to drive?” he asked. 

Blair nodded, not trusting himself to speak right now. Wordlessly he got into the passenger seat, and there his adrenaline-fueled fortitude ended. Dimly he was aware of Jim reaching across and buckling his seatbelt for him and starting the engine which, thankfully, worked first time. As they pulled out onto the road he focused all his attention on Jim’s open-fingered palm where it lay heavy and reassuring on his thigh, as though it was the only solid point in the world. 

And he kept breathing. 

*** 

Blair seemed a little spaced out, a little distant, but Jim thought he was holding it together pretty well. The fact that he hadn’t panicked, even in the aftermath of a car crash and in the face of being directly threatened, was a huge stride in the right direction and something to be immensely proud of. 

He only wished he could feel half so proud of himself. 

The second the guy had gotten out of the truck and launched himself at Blair, Jim had reacted without a second thought, his ever-present rage erupting like a volcano. This wasn’t whispered words of scorn, or sly insinuations. This was someone who wanted to hurt Blair, right here, right now, and Jim could no more prevent himself from dealing with it than he could stop the sun from rising. 

But it hadn’t stopped there. It was as if all the months of pent-up rage he carried, and the agonizing frustration of not being able to direct it to where it belonged, had burst free. He’d wanted to kill, to wipe off the face of the earth this latest in a line of assholes who thought they had a right to hurt and malign the most courageous and beautiful human being Jim had ever known; the man he loved more than he’d ever thought it was possible to love _anyone_. 

And it the end, it had been Blair’s courage that had pulled him back from the brink. Blair’s voice, tight with stress, _begging_ him to stop.  

Jesus, he never wanted to hear Blair beg him for anything; not ever again. Everything he was, everything he had, was already Blair’s for the taking, even if Jim had never explicitly said that out loud. 

They reached home without further incident, Blair apparently calm but not uttering a word during the whole trip. Once inside the door of the tiny apartment his mask slipped just a little, and that was perfectly fine. This had long been his sanctuary, and in here the need for pretence, especially between them, evaporated.                                                                                                   

Jim ached to do something - to reassure, to give comfort - but mostly held off. Blair needed space to deal; when he was ready he would come to him, of that, Jim had no doubt. But now was not the time. It was important for Blair – important to Jim too – that he cope with this in his own way. 

The incident remained an enormous, unacknowledged thing they were both at pains not to discuss, for the rest of the evening. They went through the usual motions of having a quiet night in. They ate, neither of them with much appetite. They made small talk; or at least Jim did, and Blair made a game effort to participate. And after an hour or two of television they went to bed early, Blair clearly still lost in thought, and Jim still giving him space. 

Tomorrow they would talk, if Blair wanted to.


	11. Chapter 11

The truck driver’s lips were turning blue from lack of oxygen. The frightened man’s eyes met Blair’s in desperate entreaty, begging silently for help, for Blair to save him. 

Filled with fatalistic dread, absolutely certain that he was powerless to stop it, Blair still had to try. “Jim,” he forced out in a strangled croak, feeling as if he too was being choked. “Jim, let him go. Please.” 

Jim didn’t even look at him. Instead Jim’s fingers tightened on his victim’s neck, his expression impassive, cold, merciless. Unreachable. 

Blair placed a hand tentatively on Jim’s arm, desperately seeking within this murderous stranger the honorable and compassionate man that he thought he knew. “Please, Jim,” he begged. “Don’t do this.” 

Jim turned his head to look at him then, and the rage and disgust in his eyes filled Blair with terror and grief so immense he thought he’d die. “You want a piece of me, Sandburg?” he snarled. “Bring it on!” 

Suddenly Blair was the one pressed up against the truck, and Jim’s fingers were locked around his throat, choking, punishing, robbing him of life-giving air. The truck driver stood behind Jim now, the marks on his neck already fading, and Blair could see that he was actually Kominski, the cop who had stood and laughed at him when he’d begged for his life, the one who’d egged Lawrenson on to drown him, to strangle him, to make him hurt _more_. “Do it,” Kominski said now to Jim, who turned his head to glance at him. “Choke the pathetic little fucker.” 

Blair wanted to tell Jim not to listen, that Kominski was a dirty cop, a sadistic asshole who wanted to hurt them both, but the iron grip on his throat robbed him of speech. And then Jim was right up in his face, sneering, full of anger and all of it for Blair. “I need a partner I can trust,” he said, old wounds ripped open afresh as the constriction around Blair’s throat increased. “Let it go, Sandburg. I’ve got Kominski now.” 

Blair should have died, then. But instead something surged inside him, something so immense and powerful that he couldn’t hold it in. It boiled and surged through his veins, flooding his extremities with power before it broke free with the explosive force of an atom bomb, vaporizing everything – and everyone – in its path. 

***

Jim was on his feet in the darkness, adrenaline thudding through him and his hand reaching for a non-existent gun, before he realized what had woken him. 

The echo of Blair’s cry still permeated the room, a primal roar of negation torn loose and given life by sheer force of emotion. Blair was on his feet too at the other side of the bed, hands bunched in the hair at his temples, his eyes wild. 

Jim made to move towards him, to give comfort, but Blair’s terse command halted him. “Don’t,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t touch me.” 

Jim immediately backed off. “Okay,” he said soothingly. “Take your time.” 

Blair nodded jerkily. After a few moments of deliberate breathing, he spoke again, his voice deep with controlled distress. “Can you put the light on?” 

Jim moved to comply, switching on the lamp at the bedside before going to sit back down on the bed, giving Blair the space he needed. He watched as Blair relaxed by degrees, getting it together, sorting reality from nightmare. 

Jim expected Blair to come back to bed like he usually did, seeking the shelter only he could provide, but instead Blair turned away and moved across the room, putting on more lights as he went and heading toward the kitchen. “I’m making coffee,” he announced, without looking at Jim. “You want some?” 

Jim glanced at the clock beside the bed – 3.36 a.m., far too early to be up and about, but if this was what Blair needed then that was fine by him. “Sure,” he answered. Casting a brief, regretful look at the bed, still warm from their combined body heat, Jim pulled on a pair of pants and a tee-shirt. Grabbing Blair’s robe to take over to him – his partner was wearing sweats and a tee-shirt, but it was a little chilly in here during the dark hours - he went to sit at the kitchen table. 

Blair came over and placed two mugs down in front of them. As soon as his hands were empty Jim handed him the robe, which elicited a tired but grateful smile. “Thanks, man,” Blair acknowledged, as he shimmied into it and wrapped it around himself before sitting down. 

They sipped their coffee in silence, Blair’s eyes averted. After a few moments Jim prompted, “You want to talk about it?” 

Blair grimaced. “Not really,” he admitted, glancing at Jim as he spoke, then looking away. “But I think I have to.” 

“Whatever you need,” Jim said reassuringly. “Anything you want to say, I’ll listen. You know that.” 

Blair nodded gratefully. “I, uh,” he began, clearly uncomfortable. “I dreamt about today. I mean yesterday. You know, about crashing into the truck. Well, not so much the crash, it was more about what happened after.” 

“It’s only natural,” Jim soothed. “The guy threatened you, Chief. It’s understandable that you need to process it.” 

Blair took a deep breath, then let it out in a huge sigh. “That’s not it,” he said. “I didn’t dream about him, not really. I dreamt about you.” 

Jim was puzzled. “About me?” 

Blair looked thoroughly miserable. “I dreamt at first that you were going to kill the guy. I couldn’t stop you, even though I tried. It was like you were unreachable, totally _cold_. Then you changed your mind, and decided to kill me instead. You... you were strangling me, and I couldn’t stop you.” 

“Jesus, Blair.” Jim was horrified. 

Blair was on a roll, it seemed. He’d never really talked about the detail of his dreams before, but now it was as if he couldn’t stop, and Jim really didn’t like what he was hearing. “The guy, the truck driver, wasn’t actually him, he was Danny Kominski. He was egging you on, telling you to choke me. You put your hands around my throat, and said that you didn’t trust me. That you wanted Kominski for your partner instead... Jim!” 

Jim had gotten up from the table, unable to deal with what he was hearing. “I can’t believe... god, Chief,” he said. “I can’t believe you’d think that. How can you think that?” He spun away, devastated by what he’d heard, angry as hell that Blair could even imagine those things of him. 

“Jim,” Blair protested. “Sit down. Please.” 

Jim was shaking his head. “You don’t trust me,” he said flatly. “After everything I’ve done. All I’ve cared about since I got here was to take care of you, to try to make things better. But you think I’m just like them. Like fucking _Kominski_.” He shook his head, hurt beyond all measure. 

“Will you shut up, and sit the fuck down?” Blair was on his feet now, apparently every bit as hurt and angry as Jim. “I don’t think you’re _anything_ like him, you jerk! It was just a dream, all right? My subconscious trying to make sense of stupid shit. It’s not supposed to be interpreted literally.” 

“Yeah, like that helps,” Jim said bitterly. “Deep in your psyche you’re scared that I’m gonna strangle you. Nothing for me to worry about there, right? I’m just overreacting. No big deal, huh?” 

“You know, man,” Blair said, in a voice that shook, “you told me you’d listen to whatever I needed to say. But I’m not seeing a whole lot of listening going on, here.” 

Vaguely ashamed despite his hurt feelings, Jim held up both hands. “Okay, I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath, then another. After a few moments striving for calm the pain was still there, but the urge to run, to yell, to punch a wall was dissipating. Most of all he recognized that they needed to deal with this somehow, no matter how upset Blair’s lack of trust made him feel. He went back over and sat down. “I’m listening,” he said tightly. 

Blair sat down too, looking every bit as unhappy as Jim felt. In a deliberately measured voice he said, “I’m going to tell you what I think it means, all right? Just hear me out, Jim. That’s all I ask.” When Jim didn’t respond, Blair took a couple of deep breaths, as though he was also fighting for calm, and carried on. “When we got home, I was still freaked out by what had happened,” he said. “Preoccupied with my own issues, so it didn’t really register with me until now.” 

“What didn’t?” Jim challenged. 

Blair raised an eyebrow at him, as if he expected Jim to understand without him having to say it out loud. When Jim didn’t rise to the bait, he went on, “You really overreacted, man. I’ve seen you lose it a couple of times in the past, but you always had good reason, or you’d been provoked in some major way. Like when we caught Quinn, or the time you were stalked by that asshole with road rage, you remember? But man, yesterday I was really, really scared that you were actually going to kill the guy, and I’ve never truly thought that you could do that before. You were in a totally different headspace.” 

“And so you think that means I’d kill _you_?” Jim said angrily. 

“Oh for god’s sake!” Blair glared across at Jim. “Will you just fucking _listen_ to me, instead of jumping to conclusions?” When Jim said nothing, stubbornly deciding that silence was the better part of valor, he continued. “What I mean is, there’s something going on with you which I’m only now beginning to pick up on. I was so wrapped up with my own reactions yesterday that I didn’t consciously see it. Instead it registered with me _sub_ consciously, and when I went to sleep it got mixed in with a load of other stupid stuff, exactly as things _do_ get mixed up in dreams. Now I’m awake and analyzing it, I’ve had a eureka moment. And you know what, man? I’m not scared _of_ you, I’m scared _for_ you.” 

This was all a little too close to the bone for Jim. “There is nothing wrong with me, so you’ve got nothing to be concerned about.” 

“Oh, come on!” Blair was laughed shortly, mirthlessly. “All this time, I’ve been assuming that I was the only one who was affected by what happened. But it’s not just me, is it? You’re angry as hell, because your partner – me – got abducted and hurt. The guys who did the deed are locked away in prison out of your reach, and you have fantasies about tearing them limb from limb – and believe me, man, you’re not the only one. And because of that festering rage, a rage you can never, ever aim at its source, you feel helpless and guilty and you’re almost angry enough to _kill_ the minute someone else looks at me the wrong way. How close to the mark am I?” 

Jim felt his face heat up, familiar pain rushing through him. He stood up, unable to sit and listen to this anymore. “I should have been there,” he said bitterly as he turned away. “I should have stopped them from taking you. I should have found you sooner.” 

Blair was suddenly right in front of him, his cool hands framing Jim’s burning face. “It’s not your fault, and you _know_ that. You _know_ where the blame lies, and you’re pissed as hell you can’t take your anger out on them. And so you’re going to wallow in misplaced guilt, and take it out on every _other_ asshole who crosses my path. But Jim,” Blair compelled his attention. “You can’t do that. You have got to get it together, man, and deal with this, because one day you’re going to go too far, and that can’t happen. It _can’t_.” 

“I just don’t want you hurt any more.” Jim blinked, feeling stripped bare under Blair’s scrutiny, both horrified and amazed that his partner had read him so well. A surge of strong emotion rushed through him, and forced a confession. “I love you, Blair. I...” he choked up, unable to continue. 

But Blair knew; Blair always knew. Strong arms surrounded Jim, pulling him close, holding him safe. “Yeah, man,” he murmured breathily, “I know. I love you too. And that’s why we’ve got to deal with this.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Now he was able to see it clearly, it made sense to Blair that Jim had been struggling with problems of his own. 

Blair could only imagine how he’d have reacted if their roles had been reversed; if it had been Jim who’d been hurt and humiliated in that way, instead of him. It was such an unbearable thought, making him so sick to his stomach that he didn’t even _want_ to imagine it. He was certain however that, in Jim’s place, he would have been dealing with plenty of anger issues of his own, so he understood pretty damned well where his friend was coming from. 

At least it was now out in the open between them. “I’ve had some problems since you left,” Jim confessed, both of them sitting back down at the table in Blair’s room, the first light of dawn breaking through the window as they spoke. “Anger, mostly. You’re absolutely right, Chief, there’s a big part of me that wants to make them pay for what they’ve done, but of course I can’t do that. Not in the way I’d like.” He sighed, clearly uncomfortable unburdening himself in this way. “I went to see a counselor about it, back before I left Cascade. She was the one who helped me find your therapist.” 

“Oh, man.” Blair felt nothing but overwhelming sympathy, as well as an inevitable twinge of guilt, because he’d clearly been too blind to see how negatively his experience had impacted on Jim, wrapped up as he’d been in his own issues. “Is that why you’re taking time out from work?” 

“Yeah,” Jim said, looking away. His face was red, as if with shame. “But I’m doing better now,” he insisted. “Yesterday was a one-off; I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again. Being here with you, seeing how hard you’re working to get it together… it’s helped a lot.” Jim met his eyes again, his expression openly vulnerable. “I’ve been so worried about you, Blair. When I didn’t hear from you for so long, I felt like I’d failed you. I knew you needed space, and I was determined to give you that. But in the end I… I had to track you down, come see for myself that you were okay. It was like I couldn’t get my own stuff under control until that happened.” 

“Aw, Jim.” Blair reached across the table and grasped Jim’s hand in his. “I’m so sorry, man. I’m sorry for shutting you out like that. I was just…” he laughed shortly. “Well, you know where I was at, so let’s not go there again, huh? But you’ve gotta know, you being here now, it’s made all the difference to me. You might not be able to beat the shit out of those assholes, but you’re really helping me pick up the pieces. And that’s what matters, right? What’s done is done, and we’ve gotta move forward.” 

“Yeah,” Jim said, squeezing his hand back, his voice hoarse with emotion. “That’s exactly what matters.” 

They left it at that and went back to bed, sleeping curled up together for a couple of hours until it was time for Blair to get up and go to work. And by then things were back to normal, except that over breakfast there was a newly tangible layer of mutual understanding between them. 

For his part, Blair couldn’t help but think it was a good thing that he’d been shocked out of his self-absorbed stupor at last. He’d been so wrapped up in his own misery for so long that, until now, he’d been totally oblivious to Jim’s pain. The whole incident with the truck driver and its aftermath had acted like a metaphorical kick in the butt, which had finally forced Blair to stand up taller and be the kind of friend that Jim needed. No way was he going to let Jim continue to suffer alone without his support. From now on, he vowed, they truly were in this together. 

Unfortunately, however, Blair’s carefully considered plans were thrown into immediate disarray that evening after work when, as he let himself back into the apartment, he caught the tail-end of Jim’s telephone conversation. “Yeah, I understand, Simon,” Jim was saying. “I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow. Bye.” 

Jim clicked off the phone as Blair entered. He looked upset and guilty, as though he’d not wanted Blair to overhear. 

His heart sinking, Blair queried, “That was Simon, right? He wants you back at work?” 

Jim sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice tight with unhappiness. “I hoped I’d be able to stay longer, but something’s come up. He needs me back right away.” 

“Oh, man.” Running both hands through his hair, Blair took a shaky breath. When he’d left to go to the bookstore this morning, after the drama of yesterday, this was absolutely not how he’d hoped this evening would go. He’d known, of course, deep down, that Jim would not be here forever, but faced with such a precipitous departure he found himself flailing a little. “When will you leave?” he asked. 

“There’s a flight to Cascade just after six tomorrow morning,” Jim answered. “My ticket’s already booked.” 

Considering what Jim had told him earlier, Blair had to query Jim’s readiness. “What about the stuff you’re dealing with, man? Are you ready to go back to work right now? I mean, with everything that happened yesterday, maybe you need a little more time?”

“I’ve got no choice,” Jim said. “Technically this is vacation time, not sick leave - my therapist gave me the all-clear to go back to work before I left Cascade. And I already told you, Chief,” he said. “What happened yesterday was just a glitch. I’m fine, honestly. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Blair couldn’t help having some doubts on that score, but he had to accept it was Jim’s call. And even though they’d been getting on great, behaving entirely like an old married couple for the past few weeks, he’d been preparing himself all along for this moment. Jim had a life and a career back in Cascade, which Blair had known he was eventually going to return to, and there was no place back there for Blair. Nothing for him to do but suck it up and deal. “So,” he tried on a smile for size, doing his best to put a brave face on it. “I guess this is our last night together, huh?” 

Jim strode over to him at that, and laid his hands on Blair’s shoulders. “You’re gonna be fine,” Jim said firmly, looking earnestly into his face. “Look at how far you’ve come already, Chief. You’re coping on your own now with stuff you couldn’t even imagine doing a few weeks ago. You don’t need me here now, not really.” 

“I know.” Blair took a deep breath. “I’m not worried for myself, honestly. It’s just… I’m gonna miss you, Jim. That’s all. But hey,” he tried to affect optimism he didn’t truly feel, because he understood that this blissful interlude was over and they were unlikely to get a chance to spend time together anytime soon, “we’ll meet up sometimes, right? I mean I… I’m not all that thrilled about the idea of visiting you in Cascade, you know? But I’ll get there, man. I’m working on it. And you can come back here to see me whenever you like.” He paused, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “If you want to, that is.” 

“Of course I want to,” Jim told him, pulling him into a hug. Blair found himself held unusually tight, as though Jim was frantic to hold on. “I love you,” he said, his voice oddly croaky, muffled as it was by Blair’s hair. “I love you so much, Blair.” 

“Hey,” Blair soothed, concerned by Jim’s sudden desperation, embracing him just as tightly back. “I love you too, man.” He ran a gentling hand over the taut muscles of Jim’s back. “Hey, easy. It’s okay.” 

They stayed that way for a while, holding each other tight, until Jim’s arms gradually slackened. He didn’t pull completely away, though. Instead he looked down at Blair, an expression of such naked vulnerability and devotion on his face that it took Blair’s breath away. 

It was an expression that clearly said _I love you, I need you_ , inextricably coupled with _I don’t want to leave you_. And there was something else there, something that made Blair’s heart beat faster; profound want and desire, kept in check by nothing more than a vast effort of will. 

Understanding without truly understanding _how_ that the next move had to be his, Blair placed one hand behind Jim’s neck and drew him forward for a kiss; sweet, gentle, and full of promise. Then he pulled back and placed his palm flat on Jim’s chest, over his heart, and nodded meaningfully, answering the unvoiced, half-hidden question, watching closely as the longing in Jim’s eyes turned to tentative hope, followed by awestruck understanding. And taking Jim’s hand decisively in his, Blair led him unresisting over to the bed and steered him to lie down upon it. 

Determined to show Jim that he was not afraid – and he wasn’t, not of Jim, _never_ of Jim – Blair bravely held the other man’s eyes with his own as he undressed. Not so long ago his nakedness had been used as a weapon against him, but now he decisively took it back and made it a gift. 

Jim watched him raptly all the while, lying passively and breathing shallowly as Blair finished undressing. Blair moved onto the bed to kneel over him, his bare legs straddling Jim’s jeans-clad thighs, and he leaned forward to place an almost chaste kiss on Jim’s lips before beginning the task of unbuttoning Jim’s shirt. 

Blair felt Jim trembling minutely under his hands as the last button came free. Underneath Jim wore a white tee-shirt which stretched across the impressive topography of his chest, outlining the treasure beneath yet still maddeningly concealing it. Urging Jim to sit up Blair yanked the shirt free, then hoisted the barrier off and away. Then he pushed Jim back down once more, and looked wonderingly down on the sight that had been revealed. 

Jim was a handsome man, as Blair had long-since known. He’d admired Jim’s masculine perfection from afar ever since they’d first met, and more recently had become comfortably familiar with being held in Jim’s arms and cradled against that impressive chest. But until now there had been nothing overtly sexual in their touches, not even in their kisses which had been full of comfort and care, rather than fire and passion. 

But something had increasingly been smoldering under the surface, something they’d both covertly recognized the existence of, and Blair was determined at last to fan it into flame. Because if they had to part now, he didn’t want them to meet again, months down the line, having never acknowledged it at all. If they didn’t do this now, when they had become so close to each other, then he was afraid that they never would. 

Now, therefore, for the first time in all the years they’d known each other, Blair openly looked his fill. He ran his palms over Jim’s torso worshipfully, feeling the muscles under the skin contract, loving the contrast of silky softness over solid power. “Beautiful,” he breathed, unable to hold it in. “You’re so beautiful, man.” 

Jim gasped out a shuddering breath, and so Blair leaned forward to kiss him, pressing the point with his lips. Jim’s arms came around him, pulling him close, until Blair was lying full-length atop him, held in place by Jim’s incredible strength, which had always been such an attraction for Blair. And what started as tender, measured reassurance swiftly became something unthinkingly primitive; the two of them straining toward each other, Jim’s hands fisting handfuls of Blair’s hair, their mouths fitting together like puzzle pieces, completing two halves of a whole. 

Blair could have kissed him like this forever, but Jim was squirming urgently beneath him, the stiff material of his jeans abrading Blair’s bare skin, and that reminded him that there was still one part of Jim which remained hidden and confined. Breaking the kiss, Blair wasted no time in slithering down Jim’s body, until he found himself face-to-face with the other man’s straining crotch. 

As Blair occupied himself opening the button of Jim’s jeans and painstakingly sliding down the zipper, Jim groaned loudly, then said in a strangled voice, “You’re killing me, Chief.” 

The urgency in his tone made Blair grin with satisfaction as he worked to slide Jim’s jeans and boxers fully off. “Hey, hold on. We’re getting there, man,” he said. And to his delight the next sound Jim made was a groan of utter relief now that his trapped erection had been freed. 

Blair’s assessment of Jim’s beauty couldn’t help but be reinforced once all was revealed. He fully accepted that, right from the start, he’d been guilty of a fair amount of hero worship where Jim was concerned. The amazing cop he’d met back then had been like some living mythological figure to Blair; an ancient hero come to life, complete with a body which put marble statues from Rome and Greece to shame. 

That sense of worshipful adoration came back to Blair now full-force. Jim was perfect, the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, every part of him big and hard and flawless. 

“Blair, please!” Jim’s throaty plea brought Blair out of his rapt meditation, and so he wasted no more time in getting down to the task at hand. As his lips reverently touched Jim’s cock for the first time, he felt immense satisfaction when Jim’s ability to form coherent words instantly dissolved into panting, breathy cries, as though the sensation of being sucked into Blair’s mouth was almost too much for him to bear. 

Blair had performed this act once before in his life, years ago in far more casual circumstances, and had not really liked it. But this was wholly different; this was _Jim_ , and Blair absolutely wanted to give him pleasure, wanted to make him squirm, wanted to make him _come_. He got to work with a will, his lips enveloping silky hardness, one hand cupping the tender vulnerability of Jim’s balls, his ears filled with the delicious sounds which Jim couldn’t help but make. And he relished every single minute of it. 

It didn’t take long to get Jim to exactly the place Blair wanted him to be. Blair sucked with a will, and at last Jim convulsed and cried out helplessly, pulsing bitter liquid into Blair’s mouth, his hands white-knuckled and bunched in the comforter as though it was the only thing keeping him from flying apart. In response Blair gentled his touch, holding Jim’s softening flesh in his mouth until his breathing calmed, savoring every second of the dwindling ecstasy he’d inspired before pulling free. Feeling inexpressively tender he placed a gentle kiss on the head of Jim’s dwindling erection, before crawling up the bed to lie beside him. 

Fortunately for Blair, for whom the delicious tension of anticipation had reached imperative levels, Jim recovered pretty quickly, rolling them both over so that Blair was lying flat on his back. Blair could only watch, mesmerized, as Jim swooped down and kissed him once more. Made breathless by being the focus of such intense, concerted attention Blair lay still, powerless to move, not _wanting_ to move. Jim kissed, he dimly registered under the onslaught, like you were the absolute center of his whole world. 

When the kiss finally ended, Jim was looking at him with such an open expression of adoration that Blair could hardly stand it. But he didn’t have to for long because Jim’s gaze quickly shifted away to other places, his hands and mouth touching avariciously, expertly teasing, caressing, meandering across Blair’s chest, lingering in his most sensitive places, blazing a path downwards, downwards... 

It was suddenly too much for Blair, more than he could handle, and he must have communicated his sudden vulnerability somehow because a moment later Jim was right _there_ , pulling Blair into his arms, holding him tight, pressing him close, keeping him safe. Desperately seeking succor Blair buried his face in the side of Jim’s neck, breathing wetly and gasping helplessly as Jim reached down between them and grasped his cock. Blair gave himself over wholly to the other man’s care then, as Jim expertly manipulated him, pumping relentlessly, holding Blair tight against him all the while, fiercely protecting him even as he enforced Blair’s pleasure. 

Held rigid against Jim’s powerful solidity, kept secure even in the midst of his extremity, Blair at last surrendered everything he was; understanding as the world dissolved around him that he could never find himself in safer or more loving hands. 

***

In the dead of night, watching over Sandburg as he slept the sleep of the absolutely sated, Jim wryly acknowledged that his fear that Blair was not yet equipped to handle physical intimacy had evaporated the moment his courageous friend had taken him by the hand and led the way.  

The news that Jim had to leave had been met with sadness, sure, but there had also been acceptance coupled with a declaration of absolute determination to remain on the path of recovery even without Jim’s support on-hand. “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me, Jim,” Blair had said, as they lay there together in the aftermath. “And I won’t lose the ground I’ve gained once you’ve gone. I promise you that.” Blair’s easy acceptance that Jim had to leave was a good thing as far as Jim was concerned. It would make this parting less traumatic for Blair, make it easier for him to move on and live his life. 

Jim couldn’t have been prouder of Blair, at that evidence of his resilience. He also couldn’t imagine feeling more in love with him than he did right now, or more sorrowful that it had to end. 

The knowledge had been growing on Jim for some time that he wanted nothing more than to leave Cascade behind, and stay here with Blair forever.  He’d been meaning to say so soon; to finally confess everything in all its sordid detail and prevail upon Blair to consider making their arrangement here a permanent one. 

Not much chance of that now. 

There was so much Jim couldn’t tell Blair, because the truth would hurt him too much. Far better for him to simply leave and let Blair think that everything was okay. Blair didn’t need to be dragged back into this thing, or hurt any more than he already had. He was doing so much better now; coping well with things that would have been insurmountable obstacles for him just a few weeks ago. Jim had no intention of disrupting Blair on the path to recovery by letting him know what he was going back to, or making him feel in any way responsible for Jim’s choices. 

So he lay sleepless, and he watched, and he lamented what could not be. And despite the hard knot of grief deep in his gut he savored every last moment they spent together, his senses shamelessly basking in the remembered sensations and aromas of their lovemaking which still clung to their bodies and pervaded the room. And he stayed like that until the time came for him to wake Blair, so the two of them could get dressed and get on the road. 

Too short an interval later, when it came time for them to part at the airport, Jim found that he couldn’t look into Blair’s face and bring himself to say the words he knew he should say. Instead he took the coward’s way out when, as they embraced for the last time, he murmured, “I’ll be in touch, Chief.” And then he left without looking back, leaving Blair behind to forge a new future that didn’t include him. 

Sitting on the plane a short while later, alone among strangers, Jim gave guilt its head. He should have told Blair everything, and he hated himself for lying. Blair was strong enough to bear it; strong enough to bear anything, given time. 

But the truth was that he couldn’t handle watching Blair get hurt all over again, especially knowing that, this time, he was the cause of it. 


	13. Chapter 13

After seeing Jim off at the airport Blair drove straight to work, where he lost himself in the familiar daily routine he’d carved out for himself. There was something uniquely comforting, he’d long-since discovered, about being surrounded by books and bookworms. About being immersed in the unthreatening mundaneity of ordering, selling and stacking, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the rustle of pages turning forming a meditative backdrop to his days. It especially helped now, he found, when he was trying so very hard not to dwell on how he felt about Jim having so suddenly gone. 

Blair was a little afraid that his reclusiveness was destined to make a reappearance now that he was back on his own again, but even if he sometimes found himself needing to use solitude as a self-care mechanism, he was determined not to revert completely to the unsociable person he’d become before Jim’s visit. Relationships had already improved at work because Blair had been making a gradual and concerted effort to build bridges with his co-workers, and this had not only improved his day-to-day level of interaction, but his sense of general outsiderness had also become considerably diminished as a result. It was only a start, he still had a long way to go with the rest of the world, but it was a huge stride from where he’d been just a short while ago. 

Because he needed to take time out for therapy sessions, he’d confessed a while back in confidence to his manager, Mike – who really was a nice guy once you got to know him – that he was suffering from ongoing mental health problems due to a traumatic event. He hadn’t gone into detail about his experience other than to say he’d been attacked, and that the people who’d done it were in prison. 

Mike had responded in an amazingly supportive way, which had gone a long way toward restoring Blair’s faith in humanity. “A friend of mine went through something like that,” he shared. “Home invasion, real bad stuff. He was a mess; kind of went underground for a while, but with the right help he’s back on his feet now. Still got issues, like you do, I’m sure. But hell, he’s a strong guy. Picked himself up and started over. Told me he was determined not to let the bastards ruin his life.” Mike fixed Blair with a forthright gaze. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think you’re doing okay, Blair. You’re a good worker, reliable; which tells me you’re gonna get through this thing because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have lasted this far. I’m glad you’re on my staff. You need anything, you only have to ask, all right?” 

Blair was hugely touched by Mike’s support, and immensely grateful for his understanding. He’d long-since regarded the bookstore as one of his ‘safe’ places (no matter how superficial that sense of safety might be), but knowing explicitly now that Mike had his back went a long way toward helping him control the generalized anxiety he suffered daily, that his meds _mostly_ alleviated but didn’t eliminate altogether. 

Blair made an effort, now he’d arrived at work, to treat today just like any other day. But his body was ambushed at intervals by sense-memory, almost as though it was happening right now. What it had felt like to touch Jim’s bare skin, what Jim sounded like when he came, how he’d tasted in Blair’s mouth. Above all, he couldn’t get out of his mind how amazing he had felt when Jim had held him so protectively and made him feel things he’d feared he’d never feel again. His remembrance of the night they’d spent together buoyed Blair up throughout the day, causing him now and then to smile a secret smile and making his heart beat faster at intervals. 

It was only when Blair arrived home later that night to his empty apartment that the thing he’d managed to avoid all day truly hit him: Jim was gone.

 Pain hit him then. He longed with all his heart for Jim to still be here; to never have left. He fantasized shamelessly that soon there would be a knock on the door, and he’d open it to find Jim on the threshold. “Leaving was a mistake,” the imaginary Jim would say. “I don’t care about being a cop, or my life in Cascade. I just want to stay here, with you.” 

Blair chuckled self-deprecatingly at that scenario. “Shut _up_ , man!” he told himself out loud. Being a cop was Jim’s lifeblood. Where did he get off, imagining Jim giving it all up for him? He didn’t want Jim to do any such thing. “Get a grip, Blair!” Yet still he started whenever he imagined he heard a sound out in the hall, his heart leaping with sudden, desperate hope, only to fall back into its regular disappointed cadence a second or two later, followed by him berating himself for being a lovesick idiot. 

Blair tried for a short while to watch TV, trying desperately to deflect his thoughts from Jim, but after half-an hour of flicking channels aimlessly he turned it off and went to read a novel instead, trying to lose himself in an imaginary world with imaginary people who were not him and Jim. It helped for a while, but after a couple of hours he found himself restlessly skimming pages, his concentration only half on the book, still listening out for imaginary footsteps in the hall and fantasizing shamelessly. 

Eventually, missing Jim so keenly it hurt, Blair took out his cell phone and switched it on. Jim had never called him on it yet – Blair hadn’t said that he could, and Jim had respected that – but Blair was still irrationally disappointed to see that Jim hadn’t left him a message. His hand shaking – and how stupid was that? It was just a phone, hopefully with Jim on the other end of it – Blair dialed the number for the loft, which was long-since indelibly imprinted on his memory. 

After a few rings, the answerphone kicked in. After the beep, Blair faltered a little. “Um, Jim, hi. This is me, Blair. I… I just wanted to call, to make sure you got home safe. I…” Blair laughed a little nervously, “I’d like to say call me, but, hey, you know. Don’t. Or maybe… maybe I can handle it because, Jim I’d really like to hear your voice just about now.” Realizing how desperate that sounded, Blair amended, “Oh, and hey, not because anything’s wrong, okay? I’m fine, I’m doing fine. Just... I just, well. You know. I miss you, man, that’s all. I just want to know you’re okay. I… I’ll call back tomorrow, all right? Or call me, leave a message. It’s okay to call me.” Blair swallowed miserably, having hoped that Jim was home, and would come to the phone as soon as he heard it was Blair. It was clearly not to be. Resignedly, he ended the call. “Bye.” 

Not content to leave it at that, feeling strangely desperate to make contact, Blair called Jim’s cell phone next. But to his intense disappointment it was either out of range or switched off. “Damn it, Jim!” he exclaimed to the empty room. “Where are you?” Then he berated himself all over again. Jim didn’t owe him a thing, so where did he get off, expecting him to be at his beck and call? 

Blair boldly kept the phone switched on for a few hours after that, nevertheless, hoping desperately for it to ring (somewhat ironically, since not so very long ago he couldn’t handle using a phone at all). But it remained stubbornly silent, and when it got late he switched it off, not wanting it to jar him out of sleep and thereby throw him into a tailspin of panic. 

After that he went to bed, stretching out to encompass the place where Jim would have lain, had he still been here. His sleep was remarkably peaceful and deep, given his inner turmoil and the lack of that big, comforting body to hold on to. 

The next morning Blair felt a little more resigned to reality. He was ashamed of the fact that he’d acted like a pining teenager yesterday, but today he intended to get back on track. It was time to face facts: Jim was no longer here, and they both needed to get on with their lives. Given how busy Jim was likely to be now he was back at work it would probably be months before they saw each other again, so there was really no point in dwelling on how much he missed him. 

And god damn it, Blair missed him like he’d been deprived of air to breathe. 

At work that second day, Blair caught Mike looking at him oddly at various times during the morning. He absently wondered if he had something between his teeth, or perhaps toothpaste round his mouth. 

After a while his usual discomfort kicked in: he hated being under any kind of scrutiny. Unable to stand it any longer, he approached Mike mid-morning. “Um, is something wrong?” he asked tentatively. 

Mike had such a serious expression on his face. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about your friend. It’s gotta be hard.” 

Blair blinked. “Oh, no, hey. It’s okay. I knew he had to go back sometime. We both knew it all along. He was only here for a vacation.” 

“Hell of a thing,” Mike went on, shaking his head. “I’m surprised you’re taking it so well, though. It can’t be easy seeing him make the news like that.” 

“You saw him on the news? When, yesterday?” When Mike nodded, Blair faltered, an odd feeling beginning to bloom in his gut. But he rallied quickly, resolutely denying it purchase. “Hey, he’s on there all the time, man. He’s like this amazing super-cop, always catching the bad guy and making headlines. What did he do this time? We’re talking national news, right?” 

“You don’t know?” Now Mike looked concerned. “Blair, I think you’d better sit down for a minute. I don’t know how to tell you this.” 

Blair felt a rushing in his ears. Something was happening here, something bad. “I… I…” he began, feeling out of control suddenly, the world blurring. He didn’t want this, didn’t want it… he couldn’t breathe…


	14. Chapter 14

“Easy, Blair. You’re gonna be okay,” Blair heard Mike saying. Then, “He’ll be all right, I think. Just help me get him into the back office.” Blair was conscious of movement, of hands touching him and being helpless to resist. Then it all faded into the background. 

When he came to he was in Mike’s office at the back of the store, lying on the threadbare couch his boss kept back there. He could breathe again, although he felt shaky and vulnerable as he often did after a panic attack. And he had to assume, since he had no recollection of how he’d gotten in here, that this must have been the _mother_ of all panic attacks. 

Mike was studying him with concern. “Hey,” he said. “You need me to call someone for you? Or an ambulance? You were pretty out of it for a minute, there.” 

Blair licked dry lips, and shook his head. “Can I get some water?” he asked, his voice sounding as weak as he felt. 

After Mike brought him a bottle out of the fridge, and Blair had sipped some of it, he began to feel a little better. He focused on his breathing as his therapist had taught him, keeping it slow and steady. After a few moments he was able to sit up, waving off Mike’s attempt to help. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s just... it happens, sometimes. It’s no big deal.” 

“Blair,” Mike admonished, clearly concerned. “I’m sorry I blindsided you like that. I thought you knew, or I would never have said anything.” 

Forcing himself to breathe slowly, keeping as steady a rhythm as he could manage, Blair said, “It’s okay, honestly. And I promise you I’m not gonna freak out on you again.” Dread filled him, however; his inner voice urging him to run, to hide, to deny. But instead he forced himself to look at Mike. “You said Jim was on the news?” 

Mike nodded unhappily. “I saw it last night.” 

Feeling the bottom drop out of his world, Blair asked flatly, “Is he dead?” 

“No!” Mike grabbed Blair’s arm, squeezed it. “No, he’s not dead. He’s not hurt, so far as I could see, either.” 

“Oh god.” Blair lost it at that, his relief was so all-encompassing. “Oh man, I thought…” He choked a little, but ploughed on regardless. “So what’s going on?” he demanded, angrily wiping away the involuntary tears which had appeared in his eyes. 

Speaking very carefully, as if to a child or an invalid, Mike said, “He’s in jail.” 

“What for?” That made no sense to Blair. 

“They said attempted murder. They said… _other_ stuff, too. I don’t know how much of this you want to hear.” 

Attempted murder? What the hell? “All of it,” Blair said flatly. “Mike, tell me all of it! What did they say?” 

“They said he tried to kill another cop.” Mike looked supremely unhappy, but he ploughed ahead anyway. “Seems some guy was attacked awhile back, was in a coma, but came round a couple of days ago and implicated your friend. They… they mentioned you, Blair. Said you used to be Jim’s partner, that you’d been assaulted; kind of a hazing thing, and that Jim took it badly. According to the news, he was fired a few months ago because of his behavior at work.” 

“Oh, man.” This was almost too much to assimilate. Jim had never said anything about being fired; had given entirely the opposite impression, in fact. “What else?” 

“They interviewed a co-worker of the guy who nearly died,” Mike went on. “Another cop; his partner, I think. He said some pretty bad stuff, Blair. That Jim was out for revenge, that he was paranoid and imagined every cop had something to do with it. He said that the guy Jim tried to kill wasn’t even in town when you were hurt, he transferred in after it all happened.” 

It was a lot to take in, and Blair’s mind was whirling. The suggestion that Jim had tried to commit murder on a fellow cop would have been ridiculous, had Blair not witnessed first-hand the rage Jim constantly carried around inside. 

Mike vocalized what Blair was wondering. “Do you think he did it?”

Blair had no easy answer - what could he say? Jim had killed people before, so he was certainly capable. If what Mike had relayed was correct, and this was all related to what had happened to  _him_ , then Blair had no doubt that Jim was angry enough to kill, given the right provocation. 

But Jim was no murderer. He might feel intense rage; he might even express it, but he was governed by an overwhelming sense of honor and fairness which had made him an exemplary cop during the entire time that Blair had known him. Ruthless, yes, in the pursuit of justice. And totally able to bend his interpretation of the law, when justice was better served that way. He went by the book for the most part, but situational ethics were totally his thing at other times, which was one of the reasons he and Blair understood each other so well. 

But a murderer? Or, more accurately, an _attempted_ murderer? 

That part – the ‘attempted’ part – was what had Blair shaking his head. If Jim had meant to kill, he’d have done it. He wouldn’t have botched the job then walked away, leaving the victim alive to implicate him as the culprit. 

His mind made up, he gave Mike his answer. “No. No, I don’t think he did it. In fact I’m certain he didn’t.” Blair took a deep breath, making a decision. “Mike, I need to ask you a favor. You know that vacation time I’m owed? I need to take it, man. Like, right now. I... I might need to take some unpaid time too.” 

“What are you going to do?” Mike asked. 

Determination filled Blair. There was only one thing he could do, and he was absolutely going to do it, his own issues be damned. “I’m going back to Cascade,” he said. “I’m going to be there for Jim, like he’s been there for me.” 


	15. Chapter 15

 

Blair kept it together remarkably well after that, making arrangements for his trip and getting through the next few difficult hours feeling a sense of almost preternatural calm (although looking back later, he came to the conclusion that he’d simply been shocked numb). He even managed to snatch a couple of hours of restless sleep before heading out early the next morning to catch his flight – the same six-o’clock red-eye to Cascade that Jim had taken just a few short days ago. 

The calmness that had so-far sustained him lasted right up until the plane began its descent into Cascade airport. Blair had been lucky enough to get a row of seats to himself – this early flight was half-empty – so he’d been dealing with his panic in reasonable privacy until now, but the flight attendant, it seemed, was an observant woman. “Are you all right, sir?” she asked. 

His mouth dry from struggling to breathe steadily though it, Blair nodded. “Just, ah, a little travel sick,” he croaked. “I’ll be fine.” 

The attendant nodded sympathetically and to his relief, after discreetly handing him a paper bag which had been tucked into the seat pocket in front, left him alone. 

Blair found the bag had more than one use. After holding it over his mouth and nose and breathing into it for a short while, he managed to get his breathing back in control. But he still felt sweaty and tense even as they hit the tarmac, and his heart was pounding double time. 

He’d called Simon Banks the previous evening, needing desperately to find out what he was heading into, telephone-phobia be damned. “Jim wasn’t fired,” Simon had said, contradicting what Blair had heard from Mike earlier. “But if he hadn’t resigned when he did, it’s likely it would’ve gotten to that stage. I tried to shield him as best I could, but once I.A. stepped in it was out of my hands.”

“What the hell went down, Simon?” Blair asked incredulously. “I mean, I worked out that he was having problems, but not on this scale.” 

“I hate to say this, Blair,” Simon confessed, “but it was all related to what happened to you. After you left, he... well, let's just say he didn’t cope too well. I did my best to support him – hell, we all did. You remember how we all rallied round the both of you after your assault? That didn’t stop after you left, Blair, because it was obvious to those of us who knew him - Rafe, Henri, the rest of the team - that Jim still needed our help. But no matter what we did Jim was always angry, behaving more and more like a real asshole, even to his friends. As time went on he became convinced people were still talking about it; about you. Saying stuff that he found offensive.” 

“People?” Blair queried, feeling sick at the thought of people talking about him like that; maybe even still having access to the disgusting photos that’d been circulated around the PD. “What people?” 

“People all over the department; a couple of uniforms in Major Crime, Trantor and Richards in Vice, a few more on the first floor, someone in Dispatch. Cops, mostly. Hell, Blair,” Simon said. “I lost count of how many times he got up in someone’s face at the station, making threats. By the time he handed in his badge he’d already been on suspension for a couple of months. Whether or not he would have ever been allowed back depended on the outcome of a performance review, and also a favorable report from his psychiatrist. Thank god he at least had the sense to get himself into therapy.” 

“Simon, come on,” Blair said, appalled. “If Jim heard it, it was being said. You know about his senses. He’s not paranoid.” 

“Yeah,” Simon said drily. “Tell that to IA, Blair. Jim’s senses are still supposed to be a big secret, so they weren’t buying it. And while I don’t dispute that he probably did hear things, it doesn’t justify how he dealt with it. The man had no self-control; was on a hair-trigger. It got so bad that no one would work with him. No one outside Major Crime, anyway, and even in our department there were problems.” 

Now, as the plane touched down, Blair replayed that conversation in his head, and cursed Jim once again for keeping it all secret. They were friends, damn it. Good friends. _More_ than friends. Why the hell hadn’t Jim trusted him with any of this? Why had he left Blair without telling him the reason he’d been forced to go back to Cascade? Because while it was true that Simon had ordered him to do so (apparently having talked the lead officer on the case into agreeing to give Jim the choice to return voluntarily, out of courtesy to a fellow cop, or be arrested by the local police and brought back in handcuffs), he’d led Blair to believe all along that he was just taking a vacation from his job; a job it turned out, that he no longer had. And, despite Blair’s desperate concern about Jim’s state of mind, the fact that he’d lied like that really hurt. 

Jim’s arraignment was set for later this morning, and Blair fully intended to be there. Simon had promised to pick him up from the airport and take him to the courthouse for the hearing. As Blair stepped off the tarmac and into the terminal building, he was incredibly thankful that he wouldn’t have to make his way over there alone. 

The big police captain was waiting just outside the barrier when Blair exited from the luggage retrieval area. He was an imposing figure in his neat suit, towering over just about everyone else, and for Blair there was no more welcome sight. “Sandburg,” Simon greeted, looking at Blair measuringly as he approached, before clapping him companionably on the shoulder and steering him toward the exit. “How’re you holding up?” 

Blair nodded nervously as he fell in alongside. “Hi, Simon.” He still felt on-edge; if simply being back in Cascade made him feel this stressed, the thought of heading to the courthouse and seeing people he knew there from the PD, many of whom would probably view him through the lens of his assault, did not fill him with confidence. “I’m, uh, okay,” he answered, somewhat untruthfully, sounding even to his ears anything but. 

To his relief, Simon didn’t remark on his obvious nervousness, and something about his undramatic, looming presence as they walked out under the overcast sky did more to calm Blair’s nerves than anything else he could imagine. 

Anything else apart from Jim, of course. 

Simon drove them not, as Blair had expected, straight to the courthouse, but instead to a familiar diner; a favorite breakfast haunt the three of them had frequented back in the day. Blair had vivid memories of the first time Jim and Simon had brought him here, immediately following what he tended to think of as ‘the train incident’, with him so high as a kite on adrenaline, after a stressful night mostly spent worrying that Jim had been killed, that he’d been unable to eat a thing. 

He had a similar problem now, although adrenaline was not the cause. “Simon,” he protested. “I’m really not hungry, man. Can’t we just go straight there?” 

Simon killed the engine, and turned to look at him. “Sandburg,” he said bluntly, “if you think that I’m going to hang around hungry for two hours at the courthouse, when I could be eating breakfast here instead, then you’re insane. Get your ass inside, and that’s an order.” And with that, he got out and slammed the door. 

Sighing in resignation Blair did as Simon asked, because it was obviously that or wait out here in the car on his own. But he couldn’t help grumbling a little as he followed Simon through the entrance. “Hey man, you don’t get to order me around anymore. I don’t work for you now, remember?” 

Simon just waved his protest off without a word. 

Once inside the smells of fried food and coffee informed Blair that, in actual fact, he _was_ hungry. Thinking about it, he realized he hadn’t actually eaten anything since early yesterday morning, long before Mike had dropped the bombshell that had resulted in him coming here. He’d simply not even thought about it, but now his appetite was suddenly back full-force. 

A short while later, fortified by coffee and with a comfortably full stomach, Blair had to admit he felt a whole lot better. “So tell me,” he prompted Simon, needing to know more now he was apparently able to think straight again. “What exactly do you know about what happened?”           

Simon drained his coffee, and indicated to the waitress to bring a refill. “The guy at the center of this,” he said, as soon as his refill materialized, “Greg Knowle, was attacked the day before Jim quit the force and left town. Knowle spent the night in a bar downtown, and was beaten and left for dead in an alley a few streets away. No one expected him to pull through, and he’s been on life-support ever since. But I guess miracles can happen. He started to show signs of consciousness last week, and when he finally came round all the way he dropped the bombshell that Jim was responsible.” 

Blair was shaking his head, unable to believe it could be true. “This guy, what’s he got against Jim? I heard that he wasn’t even around when I... when I was attacked.” 

“I wasn’t aware they even knew each other,” Simon said. “Knowle was a recent transfer in from Portland, newly assigned to Burglary. But it seems that Jim was at the same bar as Knowle earlier that night. According to witnesses the two of them got into a violent argument and had to be separated. Jim was ordered to leave, which he did. But Knowle says that when _he_ left a few hours later, Ellison was waiting for him a couple of blocks away.” 

“I don’t buy it,” Blair said. “Jim wouldn’t do that, Simon. He’s got a temper, yeah. But he wouldn’t hang around for hours outside a bar nursing a grudge.” 

Simon was watching him steadily. “Blair, I hate to tell you this. Now Knowle has been able to say where the assault actually took place – he was found unconscious in an alley several blocks away, so no one knew it had started near the bar – the investigating officers got hold of CCTV images from a bank nearby. It seems that there’s footage of Jim hitting him.” 

The bottom fell out of Blair’s world. “Oh, god.” He’d absolutely believed that Jim had nothing to do with it. “I didn’t think...” 

“Yeah,” Simon said sympathetically. “Me neither.” 

“So what’s going to happen today?” Blair pleaded desperately. “I mean, Jim’s got a lawyer, right?” 

Simon nodded. “Yeah, a good one. I got in touch with a friend of mine, best goddamn defense attorney I ever met. He doesn’t come cheap, but Jim’s old man is helping out with the fees.  Dave thinks that there’s a good chance Jim’ll be granted bail, although of course nothing’s certain.” 

Blair swallowed, terrified by the thought of Jim – an ex-cop - spending time in lockup. “Is he gonna enter a plea?” 

“Yeah. ‘Not guilty’.” 

“Which means it’ll go to trial,” Blair said bleakly. “Simon, if there’s video footage...” 

“Yeah, I know,” Simon acknowledged. “It doesn’t look good.”


	16. Chapter 16

The courthouse was packed when they arrived, and the press was out in force. To Blair’s dismay, television cameras immediately turned his way when they walked up the steps to the building. “Goddamn it!” Simon growled. “This is what I was afraid of.” 

As if from nowhere, Blair found himself suddenly shielded by familiar bodies who zoomed in and moved swiftly in-between to block him from the cameras and deflect the reporters who were heading his way. Rafe was there and Henri, and along with Simon they flanked him as they walked, crowding protectively around him as they ran the gauntlet of camera flashes and shouted questions, eventually herding him unmolested into the building and then to the courtroom where Jim’s arraignment was shortly scheduled to begin. 

Blair felt a more than a little shell-shocked once he’d gotten inside and taken his seat. Simon was sitting beside him, his arm laying across the back of Blair’s chair, Rafe on the other side and Henri at his back. They’d hemmed him in exactly like this during the trial of his attackers, in this very same courtroom. The sordid tale of what had been done to him had titillated the press back then, making him headline news, at least locally. 

It seemed that it had all been raked up again following Jim’s arrest, only this time the story had all the elements that made it tabloid fodder beyond state boundaries: for some reason, it seemed that the concept of revenge really worked for national newshounds. Once again Blair was a bug under a microscope, stripped bare and splayed out mercilessly for absolutely anyone to peer at. It made him feel trapped and exposed. 

He was worried that he was going to lose it, and he couldn’t afford to do that, not here, not in front of all these people. Reaching into his pocket with a shaking hand he brought out his anti-anxiety meds and popped one, swallowing the pill dry. A moment later, a bottle of water appeared unexpectedly in front of his face. Turning to look at Rafe’s sympathetic gaze, Blair took it gratefully. “Thanks, man,” he said. 

“No problem,” Rafe acknowledged easily. “Keep that, huh? I’ll get more if I need it.” 

Things moved swiftly after that. The courtroom was brought to order and Blair stood along with everyone else. Jim was led in, the sight of him in handcuffs forcing Blair’s heart to painful pounding. As his cuffs were unlocked Jim looked over, scenting the air quizzically, and his eyes found Blair’s. He was clearly shocked to see Blair there, the look of devastation on his face speaking volumes. 

Blair just nodded at him reassuringly. “It’s gonna be okay, man,” he murmured, hoping Jim could hear him. “Just... just keep your cool, and keep your focus where it needs to be, all right? Don’t worry about me. Everything’s gonna be fine, Jim.” 

Jim inclined his head slightly, indicating he’d heard. Then schooling his face to the same expression of professional impassivity he’d adopted during his many court appearances as a cop, he turned his back to Blair to face the front of the courtroom. 

Conscious suddenly that he had spoken to Jim in front of the others, and that Jim had given every indication of having heard, Blair glanced warily at Rafe, who was giving him a measuring, sidelong glance. “Um, I guess I said that out loud, huh?” Blair said, attempting to do damage control. “I’ve been living alone too long, man. I need to get out of this habit of talking to myself. People are gonna start thinking I’m crazy.” 

“If you think any of us believe for one minute that you lied about Jim having special skills, then you really are crazy,” Rafe said quietly. “Quit it, Blair. We’ve all seen him do that stuff. You don’t have to pretend in front of us.” 

Blair swallowed nervously, not sure how to respond to Rafe’s certainty without betraying Jim all over again, but Simon stepped in and saved him from agonizing about it further. “Rafe, Henri and Joel,” he murmured. “They’re the only ones who know, apart from me and Conner.  Jim is aware of it. Outside of the five of us there’s speculation, but we stamp it out whenever we hear it. His secret is safe with us.” 

“Order!” the bailiff demanded, pointedly looking their way as the judge came in, which shut off any further conversation. But Simon’s heavy hand descended briefly on Blair’s shoulder and squeezed as they sat back down, which helped calm his galloping heart just a little. 

The hearing was brief and to the point. The prosecutor predictably opposed bail, but Jim’s attorney made a good case for it, pointing out his formerly exemplary record as a cop and as a decorated military officer, as well as the fact that he had returned voluntarily from North Carolina to face charges. To Blair’s immense relief the judge was swayed in Jim’s favor. Due to the severity of the alleged offense bail was set at $50,000 and Jim was ordered to surrender his passport, but essentially he would be able to remain a free man until a verdict was returned at his trial. Finally, the case was referred for a pre-trial hearing in one month’s time. 

Blair only had eyes for Jim when, as soon as the hearing concluded, they both unerringly cut a swathe through the courtroom toward each other like twin-tornadoes through a crop, those present swerving right and left out of their path as they converged. 

When they came together in a hard, desperate hug, it felt like coming home. 

*** 

To say that Jim had gotten a shock when he’d looked across the courtroom and seen Blair sitting there, flanked by his former colleagues from Major Crime, would be an understatement. He’d been counting on Blair staying safely far away from all of this ugliness, continuing to make a new life for himself in blissful ignorance of it all, not right here in the thick of it. The fact that he’d obviously come all this way, despite his anxieties, was almost more than Jim could bear. 

Jim managed to get through the hearing after that with only half his attention on the proceedings, Blair’s pounding heart and nervous sweat a constant distraction. He felt ashamed, given how upset Blair clearly was, how comforting those sensory indications of Blair’s presence were were to a man who had spent two sleepless nights breathing the rank, unforgiving air of lockup. 

The lawyer that Simon had hired on his behalf knew how to do his job, for sure. In the immediate aftermath of the hearing, as Jim held tight to Blair in the middle of the courtroom, he glanced over Blair’s shoulder toward his attorney who was hovering nearby. “Thanks,” he said. “I owe you, big time.” 

Dave Murray shook his head. “Thank me when it’s over, Jim,” he said. “I’ve arranged a meeting with the D.A. tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll need to talk to you first. Can you come over to my office first thing?” 

Jim nodded. “Sure, I’ll be there.” 

Blair pulled away out of their embrace, although he kept one hand on Jim’s back as though unwilling to break contact altogether. “Hey,” he said quietly, looking at Jim. “Are you okay?” 

Jim took a deep breath. “I’ll be better as soon as we get out of here,” he said truthfully. 

Simon moved in then, as well as the other guys from Major Crime, and Jim gratefully put himself in their charge as they herded him and Blair protectively out and past the waiting flashes and shouted questions. Blair flinched once or twice as a reporter came too close, and so Jim stayed close as they walked, knowing how difficult this had to be for him. Not just the associations this place had, but being once more at the center of attention, open to painful dissection by hostile or prurient eyes. 

This, Jim thought ruefully, was exactly what he’d intended to spare Blair from. 

Outside, there was worse to come. “You asshole!” Knowle’s partner, Ricky Moretti, was waiting out front with a bunch of his buddies. “You fucking asshole, Ellison! You deserve to die for what you’ve done. And hey, you brought your little fag friend, too!” His furious tone turned nastily taunting as the television cameras turned his way. “What’s the matter, huh, Ellison? You aiming to fuck the ugly little bastard before someone makes you his prison bitch, huh? You want to show everyone what a fucking _man_ you are?” 

Jim could handle the guy blowing off steam at him, but the slurs he’d aimed at Blair were unforgiveable. He made to push past Simon’s intervening bulk, but suddenly Blair was right in front of him, right up in his face, one hand splayed open-palmed and solidly forbidding on his chest. “Hey, hey!” Blair said forcefully. “You don’t need this, man. Let it go!” Jim was captivated by his authoritative tone, and the fire in his eyes. “Back off, Jim,” Blair ordered, not yielding an inch. “Back off _now_!” 

That reminder of sanity was all Jim needed. He nodded and blocked out the shouted epithets, instead focusing totally on Blair. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. 

Blair nodded, casting one wary glance at Moretti, before turning his head, “Simon,” he said. “Let’s get him home.”


	17. Chapter 17

Thankfully, they made it home to Prospect without further incident, Simon driving with Jim and Blair in the backseat, and Rafe and Henri following in the car behind. Jim held on to Blair’s hand the whole time: a talisman against his own destructive emotions. Blair didn’t say a word, just held tightly back, and Jim was grateful for this brief respite from the questions he knew would shortly be coming his way.

There were a couple of photographers camped outside the building when they got there, but Jim ignored them as he, Simon and Blair headed inside, leaving Rafe and Henri to deal with it. As they went in he could hear Rafe talking to them, flashing his badge and ordering them in no uncertain terms to move on. Jim was not under any illusion however that, even if they complied, they’d truly seen the last of them. 

His relief was profound when they finally got inside the loft. Simon indicated the room with a sweep of his hand. “I think we managed to put everything more or less back where it belongs,” he said. “I don’t know what they took, but it doesn’t look like much.” 

At Blair’s quizzical expression, Jim explained, “The place was tossed for evidence while I was in lockup. It’s standard procedure, Chief.” 

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Blair said. But he looked as upset as Jim felt. Suddenly, the loft felt a little less like the sanctuary they both needed it to be. 

Simon was watching their interaction with an unfathomable expression. “I’m making coffee,” he announced, moving away toward the kitchen as though he owned the place, or maybe to avoid addressing whatever notion had suddenly taken hold. “You two take a load off.” 

In the last few moments Blair had deflated like a balloon, the strength which he’d utilized to buoy the two of them up having abruptly fled now they’d reached home. Jim led him unresisting over to the couch, got them both sitting down and wrapped his arms around him, like he’d done so many times over the past few weeks. He held on, stroking Blair’s back and rocking slightly. “Just breathe,” he murmured. “It’s okay. 

Nodding against Jim’s shoulder, Blair proceeded to do exactly that. 

Blair had gotten himself pretty much back together by the time Simon came over to hand each of them a steaming mug, following which he took a seat and stretched out his long legs, loosening his tie with a sigh. Then he fixed Jim with his direct gaze. “I’m listening,” Simon said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “And it’d better be _damned_ good, Ellison.” 

Jim knew exactly what Simon was asking. “Knowle swung at me first,” he said. “I hit him back in self-defense; not hard, not enough to do any damage, more of a push, really. We talked awhile, then I went home. He was still standing when I left him.” 

“Bullshit!” Simon leaned forward, pinning Jim with his stare. “The man spent weeks in intensive care - he nearly died, his injuries were so severe. He says _you_ did it.” 

“Then he’s lying, or confused,” Jim said. 

“They caught you on tape.” Blair’s voice was quiet, controlled. “Hitting him, I mean. There’s CCTV footage.” 

Appalled, Jim looked at Blair. “You think I did this?” he said incredulously. 

Blair looked at him miserably and, for a dreadful moment, Jim thought he was going to say yes. But he shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said. 

Jim frowned. “So what are you saying?” 

Blair seemed to have recovered a little more of his equilibrium, since the hint of fire was back in his eyes. “I’m saying,” he explained firmly, “that you’re in some pretty deep shit, my friend, and you need our help, so you’d better start at the beginning, and tell us everything that happened. Because then Simon can do some investigating of his own.” He looked over at Simon. “Right, Simon?” 

Simon didn’t change expression. “Jim’s case is outside my jurisdiction,” he said. “Any involvement on my part would be unprofessional and could lay me open to disciplinary action. Which means,” he growled, “that you’d better make this damned good, Ellison, or I’ll be taking you down with me.” 

“I don’t know where to start,” Jim hedged, not wanting Blair to hear all the sordid details. 

But Simon, it seemed, already had a good idea what had gone on. “You were drinking in the Clover Bar,” he said. “Knowle and Moretti were there, with a bunch of other cops, making derogatory remarks about Blair. How am I doing so far?” 

“Jesus, Simon.” Jim couldn’t put Blair through this; the knowledge that the awful ordeal he’d suffered was still a topic of salacious gossip in some parts of the PD. “Leave it be, all right? Just let it go.” 

But Blair, it seemed, already knew. “You don’t have to protect me, man,” he said. “Simon told me everything. I know people have been talking, and I know what they’ve been talking about. And believe me, Jim, I know how it must have felt for you to listen to that crap day in, day out.” He compelled Jim’s gaze, filled his vision. “And yeah,” he went on. “I can’t say that it’s easy for me, knowing that’s still happening. But you’ve gotta work with us on this, okay? You’ve gotta tell us the truth – the _whole_ truth. I can handle hearing it, man. I can handle _anything_ if it helps get you through this.” 

Awed by Blair’s strength, Jim reached out and pulled him close. “Chief,” he said desperately, not trusting himself to say anything else. “God, Chief.” And Blair just held him back, taking what he needed, giving Jim what _he_ needed, just as it had always been with them, at least when they weren’t so wrapped up in getting in their own and each other’s way. 

Simon’s deliberate cough reminded them that they had an audience. They pulled apart, but Jim took Blair’s hand in his and entwined their fingers together before turning to look at Simon. 

Simon was watching them. “Something you’d like to tell me?” he asked pointedly, glancing down at where their hands were joined, then up again at Jim’s face. 

“About what happened in the bar, sir?” Jim deflected. 

“No,” Simon retorted, “ _not_ about what happened in the bar. Though of course I would like to hear about that too, hopefully before we all die of old age.” 

It was Blair who broke the silence. “Jim and me, we, uh...” he glanced at Jim a little nervously, as if he wasn’t quite sure what they were, himself. “We’ve started a relationship,” he said. “Kind of,” he hedged. 

Jim brought their joined hands to his mouth, and kissed Blair’s knuckles; affirmation that there was nothing _kind of_ about it. Then he looked across at Simon. “That going to be a problem for you?” 

“This a new thing?” Simon asked. 

“Um, yeah,” Blair confirmed. 

Simon grinned. “Then my only problem is wondering what the hell took you so long. You do realize that just about everybody assumed you’d gotten together years ago, right?” he said. 

“I had an idea that was the case,” Jim admitted. He’d overheard plenty of speculation over the years. 

Blair was grinning. “They did, huh?” He shook his head. “That’d explain why all my dates dried up. I thought I’d just lost my touch.” 

Jim winked at him. “Not from where I’m sitting, you haven’t,” he said. 

“Oh, dear lord.” Simon raised his eyes heavenward for a moment. “Well as much as I hate to break this up,” he said focusing his gaze back on the two of them, “we’ve got a job to do here. Since Blair is okay with hearing whatever you have to say, Jim, why don’t you start by telling me what happened at the bar? The sooner we do this, the sooner I can leave you two to get on with whatever it is you’re gonna get on with, that I don’t want to know anything about _ever_. Do we understand each other?” 

Reassured by the warmth of Blair’s hand in his, as well as Simon’s apparent acceptance, Jim complied. 

He’d not gone into the Clover Bar for any particular reason, he was just in the vicinity and decided to go in to have a beer in a familiar place before heading home. The other cops had been sitting in a booth, out of Jim’s line of sight, but their voices had carried even without the benefit of him actively using his heightened senses. 

He’d overheard Knowle – who’d never even met Blair – asking questions about photos that someone had given him. As Jim listened in it was clear that he’d actually brought a printed copy of one to the bar with him. They were all sitting in the corner, looking at it and laughing; saying disgusting things. 

Needless to say Jim had instantly seen red. He’d tried to get the photo away from Knowle, who’d had it in his hand, but the other guys had blocked him, and there were just too many of them to go up against. In the end, the bartender had thrown Jim out for causing a disturbance. 

He’d waited outside after that, determined both to get the photo away from Knowle and find out where he’d gotten it from. When the guy had emerged several hours later and headed down the street where Jim cornered him, he’d been staggering drunk. He’d swung at Jim, and Jim swung back, just once but not with any great force. Then Jim had pinned the guy up against the wall and demanded answers, but he’d not gotten anything of use. Knowle claimed that he’d found the photo on his desk, but he didn’t know where it had come from. He’d lost track of it in the bar; possibly one of his buddies had gone home with it but he didn’t know who. 

“I told him a few home truths while I had him there,” Jim confessed. “He’d only ever heard one side of what happened to Blair. It seems that there are people even now, despite those assholes serving twenty to life, who think it was no big deal, something to laugh about. Like Knowle’s partner Moretti, for one.” He glanced at Blair, who’d gone pale and still. “I’m sorry, Chief.” 

Blair shook his head, clearly not wishing to say anything right now. 

“So what happened then?” Simon prompted. 

“Then,” Jim concluded, “I left him there and went home. I offered to call him a cab - the guy was hosed - but he said he’d walk, that it was only a few blocks.” Jim shook his head in regret. “I should have gotten him that cab.” 

“Hey,” Blair had found his voice. “It’s not your fault, man.” 

Jim just shrugged. The truth was he’d still been angry as hell, and had let his sense of responsibility fly out of the window. There really was no excuse for that. 

“So what you’re saying is that he made his way home, and at some point on the way he was attacked by a person or persons unknown, and left for dead,” Simon concluded. 

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. 

“Did anyone see you leave him there?” Blair asked. “Was there anyone around, anyone who could have seen you head for home, with him still on his feet?” 

“I didn’t see anyone, no,” Jim said. “It was late; quiet. There was no one else around.” 

“But maybe there was someone. Watching out of a window, maybe?” Blair turned to Simon. “Simon, you could ask around the area, right?” 

Simon nodded. “I’ll do that,” he agreed. He glanced at his watch. “I’d better go get started,” he said. “Get some rest, the two of you,” he said. “Stay inside, if you want to avoid the press – they’re all over this goddamn thing. You need anything today, you call Rafe or Henri. And one of us will be on call tomorrow to make sure you get to your lawyer’s office without the vultures on your back.” He stood. “I’ll see myself out.” 

Once Simon had gone, the two of them sat there in silence a while, and Jim could almost hear Blair’s thoughts tumbling around in his head. Finally, Blair broke the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me, man?” He looked at Jim, his eyes wounded and accusing. “You let me believe, that whole time, that everything was going just fine for you.” 

“You already had enough to deal with,” Jim said. “I just wanted to spare you from hearing about my shit.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel in any way responsible. I hope you don’t, because nothing, Chief; _nothing_ that happened is your fault.” 

“Were you ever going to tell me you’d quit?” Blair asked. “All that time we spent together, and you never said a word.” 

“I was waiting until the time was right,” Jim confessed. “I was hoping that, after a while, you’d just get used to having me around. That you’d get so used to me being there that it’d be no big deal when I told you I’d really like to stay for good.” 

Blair launched himself up off the couch at that. “Are you _insane_?” he said incredulously. “You thought, what, that I’d just forget all about you having a life back here? A job? Oh, wait,” he added sarcastically, “you didn’t have a job.” 

“Blair-” Jim protested weakly. 

But Blair was on a roll. “You know what bothers me the most, man? You _lied_ to me. You told me, right at the start, that you were on vacation. That Simon told you to take as much time as you needed. You told me that he’d called you back because you were needed at work. You _lied_.” 

“Most of it’s technically true,” Jim protested. “It _was_ a vacation, just not from work. Simon gave me his blessing when I told him where I was headed, and he _did_ tell me to come back when this all happened. It… it just wasn’t the whole truth, that’s all.” 

Blair was pacing now, clearly pissed. “It was a _lie_ , Jim, however you try to dress it up. A huge _catalog_ of lies. And man, I need to know – I _need_ to know – that I can trust you. Because,” his voice cracked, “you are the _only_ person in the world I trust, and if I lose that, then I don’t have anything.” 

Jim stood up at that, unable to resist the lure of Blair’s pain. He captured Blair in his arms, and folded him into a tight embrace, which was returned just as strongly. “I’m sorry,” Jim murmured. “I’m sorry, Chief. I was wrong. I was wrong to keep it from you. I swear to you, Blair. No more lies. God, I’m so sorry.” 

Blair punched Jim painfully hard on the shoulder, before gripping him hard once again. “You talk to me from now on, you asshole. You tell me everything that’s going on with you, and I mean _everything_. You tell me the fucking truth, the _whole_ truth. Because if you don’t…” 

Jim didn’t want to hear it. The thought that he might lose Blair’s trust over this was more than he could bear. “I won’t,” he promised. “I swear to you, Chief. No more secrets, no more lies. I love you. I love you so much.” 

Blair had softened like butter in his arms, melding into Jim’s body as they clung to each other, his grip on Jim morphing from punishingly hard to achingly gentle. “We do this together, man,” Blair murmured, his reassurance easing Jim’s terror like nothing else could. “We’ll get you through it, I promise.”


	18. Chapter 18

In the hours that followed, Jim and Blair spent some time dealing with the necessities of siege, which effectively was the state that the reporters outside the building had driven them to. 

A call to Rafe, who was on guard duty out front with Henri, resulted in a promised delivery of essential groceries. Then they each took turns to shower and freshen up while they waited for the food to arrive. 

After Rafe had deposited their provisions they prepared a light lunch together. Blair’s own appetite was somewhat lacking, but Jim wolfed down the food with gusto, apparently ravenous after the time he’d spent in lock-up. They didn’t talk much during the rest of the afternoon. Instead they camped out on the couch, sitting close together and mindlessly channel surfing, each of them finding peace and comfort in the others’ simple presence, and avoiding any reference to the wolf at their door. 

It was clear by early evening that they were both equally exhausted, after the two sleepless nights Jim had spent in jail and Blair’s long journey. By mutual agreement they cleaned up and got ready for bed a little after 8.30 pm, and at last headed up to Jim’s bed together to get some rest. 

Jim fell asleep almost immediately, his hand loosely held in Blair’s, the stress lines in his face smoothed out in repose. Blair lay awake watching him for a long time despite his own exhaustion, feeling such profound tenderness it made his throat ache. Eventually, when the night had at last become full-dark, Blair followed Jim into sleep. 

*** 

To the relief of both Jim and Blair, there was no sign of the press outside their building the next morning. It seemed they’d taken Rafe at his word, and beaten a retreat. “Thanks, H,” Jim told Henri, who looked a little bleary after half the night spent out front in his car. “Go home, get some sleep. Tell Rafe we’re okay, no need to come back to babysit us. We’ll take it from here.” 

“No problem, babe,” Henri said. “Take it easy,” he said, then looked pointedly at Blair. “Both of you, okay? And just call my cell, or Rafe’s, if you need one of us to come back you up.” 

Blair nodded gratefully, warmed through by Henri’s support. 

“You think they’ll come back?” Blair asked, after Henri had left. “The reporters, I mean.” 

Jim shrugged. “Probably. Maybe not right away, there’s not going to be much for them to see between now and the pre-trial hearing, but they’ll probably reappear closer to the time. I’ll keep watch when we’re out and about so we can take evasive action if necessary.” 

Blair insisted on coming along with Jim a little while later when he went to see his lawyer, but when they reached Dave Murray’s office Jim asked that Blair remain in the waiting area so that he could go and talk to him alone. “It shouldn’t take long,” Jim said. “This is just a short meeting, just to establish what’s going to happen between now and the pre-trial. Why don’t you stay out here, and take a break? You look exhausted.” 

In a perfect world, Blair would have gotten in his face and made sure Jim knew exactly what ‘in this thing together’ really meant, but he had to admit that he truly was not feeling all that great right now: shaky, anxious, and self-aware enough not to push his limits. Reluctantly he took a seat, therefore, and gratefully accepted the coffee brought for him by the pretty receptionist. Watching her retreat back to her desk afterward, Blair smiled wryly to himself. Gone were the days he’d bring out the old Sandburg charm and try to score a date. “How the mighty have fallen,” he murmured to himself, before taking a sip. Not that he minded having given up the chase, of course. He was more than satisfied to reserve all his charm – what of it he’d managed to cling onto - for Jim. 

Jim, it seemed, had been accurate when he’d indicated the meeting would not take long. Having re-established much of his equilibrium by concentrating all of his attention on his breathing – a technique he’d been working on with his therapist, which was proving more and more effective as time went on - Blair stood to make his way over when Jim emerged from Dave Murray’s office less than twenty minutes later. Murray had followed him out, and was shaking Jim by the hand. “I respect your decision, Jim,” he was saying, as Blair reached them. “And I’ll do everything I can to build a good defense. But if you change your mind, you’ve got my number. I’m meeting the D.A. at three this afternoon to clarify some aspects of the case against you.” 

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Jim said. “Thanks, Dave. I appreciate it.” 

As they walked into the elevator, Blair asked, “What was that about?” 

Jim shrugged as he pressed the button for the first floor. “He wants to negotiate it down from attempted murder to assault and battery. He’s confident he can demonstrate extreme provocation.” 

Blair huffed a short laugh devoid of amusement. “The thing with the photo of me, right?” He shook his head. “So, what, plea-bargain it down from a felony to a misdemeanor? Admit the crime, do the time? A few months in jail, community service, anger management classes, a great big stain on your record, but otherwise we’re cool?” 

“You got it, Chief.” 

“So, what did you tell him?” 

Jim grinned. “I told him no.” 

“So, you stick with attempted murder, continue to plead not guilty, and go to trial. Risk of life in prison, if convicted.” 

“Is there any other way?” 

Blair shrugged. “Hey man, you’re innocent. I’d do the same thing in your place.” He consciously took another couple of slow breaths, working to subdue his nerves, which were abruptly back with a vengeance. “So in the meantime,” he said, ruthlessly forcing himself to focus, “we’ve got to get it properly investigated. Look at all the evidence, talk to witnesses. You’ve got to go to the crime scene. With your senses, man, you’re going to be able to pick up anything that was missed.” 

The elevator doors opened, and they both stepped out. As they headed for the exit, Blair glanced at Jim, to find him grinning widely. “What?” he demanded, a little exasperated. 

Jim winked at him, before throwing an arm around Blair’s shoulders, the weight warm, heavy and infinitely comforting. “I’m just thinking how like old times this is,” he said. “It’s good to have you back, Chief.” 

None of it was good; certainly, none of it _felt_ good. But Blair couldn’t help grinning back as he wrapped his own arm around Jim’s waist, nevertheless. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said. “Lead on, Kemosabe. Let’s get this show on the road.”


	19. Chapter 19

Jim was concerned about how Blair might handle setting foot back in the P.D. It wasn’t exactly a piece of cake for him, either; he’d left under a cloud, after all, and was now suspected of the attempted murder of a fellow cop, so he certainly didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms. But he was brazen enough to deal with whatever was thrown his way, so he had no problem with it. 

Blair, however, had intensely bad memories of the place which, coupled with his panic disorder, would undoubtedly make it a challenge for him to walk inside. Despite that, it was at Blair’s insistence that they went straight there after leaving the lawyer’s office. “We’ve got to find out as much as we can about the case against you. The best place to start is by talking to Simon. And Jim, we can’t waste any time. We’ve gotta act _now_.” 

Amazed and impressed by his resolve, Jim nevertheless made a silent promise to himself to support Blair when he inevitably faltered on the threshold. To help him beat a tactical retreat, without shame, when it became too much. 

To his surprise and admiration, they passed through the doors of the precinct building and right up to the front desk without incident, Blair striding purposefully ahead. A phone call from the duty officer garnered them visitor passes and permission to ascend to the sixth floor to see Captain Banks, with Blair fidgeting only a little as they waited for the elevator, seeming impatient rather than nervous. 

When the two of them were alone for a few moments, after the doors closed and they started to ascend, Blair caught Jim looking at him surreptitiously before, caught in the act, he guiltily pretended to be looking elsewhere. Jim was well and truly busted, though. “What?” Blair demanded, giving no quarter, sounding irritated. 

Jim shrugged. “It’s just… you’re doing pretty well with this.” Hesitant to say too much, in case the reiteration of _exactly_ where they were brought on a flash of panic, he hedged, “Being here. Back in Cascade.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m pissed off right now,” Blair said, a slight grin indicating (to Jim’s relief) that it was not – at this moment, anyway – Jim who he was pissed off at. “And I’m finding rage to be a workable substitute for shitting my pants every five minutes.” He looked at Jim earnestly. “We need to get this guy. The guy who tried to kill Knowle. We need to get you off the hook, and we can’t do that if I’m going round behaving like a spineless goober all over town.” 

Jim couldn’t help an amused laugh, at that. ‘Spineless goober’ was an ironic in-joke they’d bandied between them before, back in the days they’d been partners; back when it was absolutely clear that, no matter his lack of police training, Blair was anything _but_ spineless when it came down to the wire. “I love you, you know,” Jim told him indulgently, still grinning, just as the elevator doors opened at Major Crime. 

Blair grinned back at him, “Yeah,” he said, as they both stepped out. “The feeling’s mutual, man.” 

Simon was already waiting for them at the door to his office. He beckoned them in, indicating to his secretary - someone new, not the familiar Rhonda - that he didn’t want to be disturbed. She was just one of the small number of unfamiliar faces in the bullpen they passed by as they followed Simon, new personnel among the ones Jim knew well, all of them regarding Jim and Blair with interest as they passed by, some nodding a greeting, others regarding them dispassionately. To Jim’s relief, no one seemed openly hostile. 

Blair seemed to be looking for someone in particular as they passed through. “Hey, where’s Megan?” 

“She went back to Australia just before I left,” Jim supplied. 

“What, for good?” Blair seemed disappointed, and Jim was reminded that she and Blair had been close friends. “That sucks. I was hoping she’d help out. You know, on your case.” 

Simon, standing in the doorway of his office as he beckoned them in, had clearly overheard. “I’m expecting her back in a few weeks,” he clarified. “She’s on an extended vacation, visiting her folks. Her dad’s been ill, although he’s doing a lot better now.” As they moved past him into the office, he added, “It wouldn’t surprise me if she came back earlier. I updated her about what was happening by email, and the one she sent me back contained pretty much every curse word I ever heard, plus a few Aussie ones I don’t even understand. Suffice it to say, she’s pissed on your behalf.” 

After the niceties of pouring coffee, Simon made it clear that he and his team had wasted no time on getting started. “Rafe was out earlier, doing an initial trawl of the area where you were seen on camera. Knocking on doors, talking to people living and working in the area.  He’s not turned anything up so far. You sure you don’t remember seeing anyone around that night who may have seen you walk away? Anyone at all?” 

“No one,” Jim confirmed. “It was late; dark. The streets were deserted.” 

“What about physical evidence, Simon?” Blair asked. 

Simon shrugged. “Blood on the victim’s clothes was all his own. No weapon matching the injuries Knowle sustained was recovered either at the location shown on CCTV, or where he was eventually found. A trawl of the route between the two locations didn’t reveal anything, nor was there any CCTV footage from anywhere else in the area. Forensics are still examining the things taken from the loft, but the word is that they didn’t find anything significant so far.” Simon looked at Jim apologetically as he spoke, no doubt understanding how that violation of Jim’s personal space had made him feel. 

“Do they have any idea what _did_ cause his injuries?” Blair asked. 

“Most of it was consistent with being beaten with fists or a weapon. A penetrating blow caused the head injury. Whatever was used had a round, flat edge, like a hammer.” Simon looked at Jim sympathetically. “Doesn’t sound like something you’d attack anyone with, Jim, does it? Even if you _had_ been inspired to commit murder.” 

A question that rhetorical didn’t deserve an answer. Instead Jim asked, “What about robbery? Was anything taken?” 

“Apparently he wasn’t wearing a jacket when he was found, despite his buddies saying he had one on when he left the bar.” Jim nodded at that, he was sure Knowle had been wearing one when he’d last seen him. Acknowledging Jim’s confirmation of that detail with a slight nod of his own, Simon carried on. “He had no credit cards or cash on him, and his wallet and shield were never located. Robbery was the assumed motive, right up until he fingered you for the attack.” 

“And the CCTV footage?” Jim queried. “Have you seen it?” 

“No, unfortunately.” Simon sighed. “Homicide have it locked down tight, and they’re not sharing with anyone outside their department. I understand a copy will be passed to the D.A.” 

“Hey,” Blair interjected. “Your lawyer’ll get to see it, right, Jim? To review the evidence they’ve got against you?” 

Jim nodded. “He has an appointment with the D.A. this afternoon. He’s already subpoenaed a copy.” 

Blair was nodding. “Good, good. So when he gets it, Jim, you can look it over with your senses. Look for anything that might not have been picked up already. If there’s anything there to see beside the obvious, man, you’ll find it.” Blair’s fervent belief in Jim’s senses, unmuted even after all this time, filled Jim with a rush of fond nostalgia. 

“What about the witness statement?” Jim asked, turning back to Simon. 

Simon went over to his desk and picked up a file, which he handed over to Jim. “Don’t ask me where I got this,” he said. 

“Or you’ll have to kill us, right?” quipped Blair, gamely attempting to lighten the mood. Jim opened the folder and, with Blair looking on, read the transcript. 

On the surface of it, it seemed damning. Knowle’s testimony confirmed exactly what they’d heard: that he had positively identified Jim as his assailant. Jim’s version of events was confirmed in full, right up to the point where Jim had walked away after their fight and left him alone. The difference was that in Knowle’s version, Jim had turned right around and attacked him from behind, before beating him to a pulp and leaving him for dead. “Goddamn it,” Blair said, clearly upset. “Why would he say that, Jim?” 

The question formed a hard, painful knot in Jim’s stomach. If Blair didn’t believe him, he was lost. “I didn’t do it,” he said, a little sharply. 

“I know that, man!” Blair sounded hurt, now. “Don’t think, not for one minute, that I don’t know that. I’m just wondering what made him lie about it, that’s all.” 

“Blair,” Simon interjected, “It could be any number of reasons. Maybe he has some history we don’t know about, possibly a grudge against Jim. Maybe someone else has a grudge, and is using Knowle to get payback. We’re looking into his background, his contacts, trying to see what we can turn up.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’s just confused. The guy’s skull was fractured, after all, and he was in a coma for a long time. If his memory is affected, he’s probably not remembering the way it really went down.” 

Listening to the two of them, and the unconditional belief in his innocence that they were expressing, Jim felt contrite for doubting, even for one second, that either of these two men had his back. Turning to Blair, he said, “I’m sorry, Chief. I know you believe me. It’s just…” 

Blair reached out to him. “Hey, I know,” he said. “This has gotta be really hard for you, man. You’re being made out to be something you are _not_. But you’ve got to trust us. You’ve got to trust _me_. No _way_ do I think you did this. I know you, remember? I know you’re innocent, and we’re going to help you prove it.” Blair turned pleading eyes on the other man in the room. “Right, Simon?” 

“You’d better believe it,” Simon said. “I’m just sorry I don’t have more to give you right now. We’ll keep digging, of course. And Henri is taking a couple of our guys back to the area around the Clover Bar tonight; if anyone saw anything at all, we’ll find them. In the meantime, you should do what Blair says, and take a look at that tape as soon as your lawyer gets a copy. But until that happens, I suggest you go home and get some rest. _Both_ of you. You look exhausted.”


	20. Chapter 20

Despite Simon’s plea that they rest, going home was the last thing on Blair’s mind right now. As soon as they got back into Jim’s truck after leaving the precinct Blair said, “You’ll need to swing around, man. The Clover Bar is in the other direction.” 

Jim raised an eyebrow at him, a flicker of concern evident deep in his eyes. “You sure you want to do this now?” 

All Blair could feel right now was determination; at least he kept telling himself it was that which fuelled the butterflies in his stomach, and not nerves. “Absolutely sure.” He looked at Jim. “Why, you got somewhere else you need to be?” 

Jim just shrugged and obligingly started the engine. 

Once at their destination, they retraced the route from the bar that Jim had taken that fateful night. “Here,” Jim pointed out. “This is where I waited for him. And over there,” He crossed the street. “Here, right here, is where I last saw him.” Jim looked up; there was an ATM machine a few yards further along the block. “I guess that’s where the CCTV footage came from,” he said, indicating the camera above it. “We had a bit of a scuffle near there, then talked for a while right there on the corner. Then he went that way, and I went in the other direction.” 

There was clearly nothing to show of that night. The sidewalk had been thoroughly drenched by weeks of Cascade’s intermittent rain, and any residual sign of Jim’s altercation with Knowle had long since been obliterated. “Okay,” Blair said, accepting Jim’s negative shake of the head without challenge. “So we go to where he was found. Simon said it was an alley behind Chandler Street, right?” 

Jim indicated the direction. “This way,” he said. 

As they walked, Blair kept up a litany of advice. “Keep your senses open,” he said. “You’ve got a great sense-memory, so think about that night as you walk, and try to become aware of anything around you that reminds you of it. It’s a long time since it happened, but there might be something, anything along this route that you can latch onto. Most likely a smell, however faint, or maybe a bit of torn clothing the same color as whatever Knowle was wearing. He lost his jacket, didn’t he? Maybe the guy who hit him dumped it. You said he was drunk; see if you can locate a combination of stale alcohol and blood.” Blair patted Jim on the back reassuringly as they walked. “You can do it, man!” 

But, disappointingly, Jim didn’t sense a thing. Even when they reached the place Knowle’s battered body had been discovered, and despite all of Blair’s attempts to help him focus, he didn’t manage to turn up anything at all. 

“Goddamn it!” Jim said, his disappointment and frustration plain to see. “This is pointless! There’s nothing, Chief. Nothing at all, nothing connected to that night, just a whole load of smells that have nothing at all to do with Knowle. It’s been too long since it happened.” 

“Come on, Jim,” Blair urged. “Let’s try again. Stop for a moment and breathe, then focus on your memories of that night, then try again. You can filter out all that other stuff.” 

But Jim just let out an exasperated sigh. “Forget it,” he said bitterly. “I told you, there’s nothing.” He fixed Blair with an annoyed gaze, every bit the irritated, reluctant sentinel he’d been at various times they’d worked together in the past. “What is the point of having these goddamn senses if I can’t even use them to get myself out of this mess?” 

“Hey, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do!” Blair insisted. “So there’s no trace left of what went on, but it was a long shot after all this time anyway, right? The next step is to get a look at that tape. There’s gotta be something on it you’ll be able to pick up.” He reached out, placing a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Don’t give up, man. We’re gonna get you through this.” 

But Jim just frowned, his teeth clenched against whatever retort he was biting back, and gently shrugged Blair off. He walked resolutely back to where they’d left the truck, with Blair reluctantly trailing in his wake. 

Back home Blair gave Jim space, which appeared to be what he needed the most right now. It seemed that the dire reality of the situation had finally struck home, now that they’d visited the crime scene and turned up precisely nothing. It was a measure, Blair guessed, of just how much Jim had hoped by going there that he would find a clue, along with a way out of this mess. If he was honest, Blair had to admit that he’d fervently hoped the same thing. 

The truth be told, Blair wasn’t feeling much like pushing right now, anyway. He was still wrestling his own demons, the stress of Jim’s predicament and his own impulsive trip back to Cascade combining to make him feel shaky and drained. Concerned that he might backslide now he was so far out of his normal routine, Blair called his therapist’s secretary. He had an appointment scheduled for the following day, which he would obviously not now be able to attend in person, but was reluctant to cancel altogether. He therefore managed to arrange for Joe Blake to do the consultation over the phone. It would be less ideal than the usual face-to-face session, but definitely better than nothing. Blair was absolutely determined not to lose the ground that he’d gained, which would be all too easy to do under these circumstances. 

The rest of the day was spent navigating Jim’s all-too-apparent crushing disappointment. It put Blair in mind of the worst of their bad days, back when they’d worked together as a team. Back then Jim’s fear and overblown sense of guilt had often manifested in a combination of stoic silence and biting comments, and this occasion was no exception. All Blair could do was weather the storm as best he could. 

Finally, both of them tired and dispirited at the end of an interminable day they went off to bed, silence forming an impenetrable barrier in the empty space between them. Sleep came slowly for Blair. He didn’t begrudge Jim his coping mechanisms but man, this whole thing totally sucked. 

*** 

Blair was on his knees, head over the bowl of water, a hank of his hair gripped painfully tight in a punishing fist.“You dirty fucking fag. Stop whining - we’re just washing you clean, boy,” his abuser said. 

Water ran into Blair’s eyes, his nose, dripping across his face from what was left of his hair. They were still taunting him as he gazed with dread into the water of the bowl. He was going to be pushed under once more; he knew with a fatalistic certainty. He’d been here before, hadn’t he? This was so familiar. 

Underneath the fear something stirred, then blossomed into something far stronger. Anger and determination surged to the surface, as well as a profound sense that he could easily get the upper hand here; that this was all a sham. “Get your hands off me,” Blair demanded, straightening up as he spoke. 

The shadow men - his tormenters - paused, the fingers in his hair slackening. This was not how it usually went and, sensing victory, knowing that he could stand and shrug away the intrusive hands, Blair did so. Another shrug and he was no longer tied, his bonds disintegrating into nothing. 

He was dreaming, he knew. Just to press the point he glared at the shadowy figures, their features indistinct, the room around him blurring and shifting. “You’re not even real,” he accused. “Get the fuck out of my head!” 

The shadow men looked oddly discomforted by being found out, and faded away like smoke as reality imposed itself, obliterating the dream. Blair looked up into semi-darkness; a high ceiling, a skylight above his head, through which the encroaching light of dawn could be seen. He was in bed in the loft; in bed with Jim. His partner slept on beside him, oblivious. 

Feeling like he could conquer the world, Blair smiled.


	21. Chapter 21

Jim felt more than a little ashamed of himself the next morning. He’d pretty much gone into a sulk after they’d visited the place he’d last seen Greg Knowle, and had cut off all Blair’s attempts to communicate. Blair, for his part, had given Jim far more space than he deserved, considering how much he’d already disrupted his own life to be here by Jim’s side. Jim sighed. Time to eat a healthy dose of humble pie, and make sure Blair knew how much his support was valued. 

Typically, however, Blair didn’t seem to bear a grudge. He was already in the kitchen when Jim came downstairs, fully dressed and making breakfast. “It’ll be ready in a few,” he said amiably, as Jim poured himself coffee. “Why don’t you take a shower before we eat?” 

Jim nodded his assent. But, just to make the point that he was contrite, damn it, and really did appreciate Blair, he gave him a one armed hug and a peck on the cheek as he walked past, and was rewarded by a sweet smile. 

Over breakfast, however, he made an effort to address it, guilt gnawing at him and making the bacon that Blair had cooked for him lie heavy in his stomach until he’d gotten it out of the way. “I’m sorry, Blair. I acted like a jackass yesterday.” 

Blair shrugged. “It’s no big deal. You’ve got a lot on your mind.” 

“Yeah, well it doesn’t mean I get to act like a dick. Especially not to you, especially when you dropped everything to come here. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, I want you to know that.” 

“I know,” Blair said easily. 

“You seem to be handling this whole thing really well,” Jim said. He smiled wryly. “Better than me in some ways.” 

Blair shot him a grin. “Yeah, well I’m feeling the heat on the inside. I’m just getting better at dealing with it on the outside, I think.” 

Jim frowned. “I feel bad, you know. About this whole thing.” He reached across and captured Blair’s hand in his own. “You’ve got so much to deal with already. I never intended for you to come here and take on my problems as well.” 

“Even though your problems started because of what happened to me?” Blair said. “That makes no sense, man. I’m part of this thing. You _know_ I am.” 

“I just,” Jim paused, hating that Blair felt in any way responsible. “I don’t want anything about this to keep hurting you. I don’t want to make it worse, to make you feel like you’re somehow the cause because, Blair, you’re not. Not _you_. That’s why I never told you about it, about the things people were saying, about the crap I was getting at work.” 

“Will you just listen to yourself?” Blair was incredulous. “You’re not in this alone, Jim. I tried that, remember, the whole going-it-alone thing? And look where it got _me_. This involves both of us. When the shit hits the fan we’re better at dealing with it together. We always were.” 

Jim couldn’t help letting his admiration show. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he said. “You’re the strongest guy I ever met.” 

“Yeah, well, today I’m strong enough to know my limits, so I’m going to be talking to my therapist on the phone in about half an hour. Jim, I need you to do something for me.” 

“Don’t listen in, right?” Jim understood. “No problem.” 

Blair smiled. “Yeah, thanks.” He took a breath, and squeezed Jim’s hand. “It’s important that I keep working on this thing, you know? I can’t give up just because I’m here. In fact, _especially_ because I’m here.” 

That made tons of sense to Jim. “I know. Hey,” He caught Blair’s eye, “if you ever need to talk, I’m right here. Just because I’ve got my own crap doesn’t mean I’m not here for you one hundred percent, because I am. Don’t forget that, Chief.” 

Blair smiled. “I won’t.” 

*** 

“I know what it was,” Blair told Joe Blake over the phone a short while later. He glanced at Jim, who was sitting on the couch wearing headphones, eyes closed, listening to music. Trusting that he wasn’t making any attempt to eavesdrop, Blair carried on. “I know it was a lucid dream. I’ve had one or two in the past. Not often, I usually wake up as soon as I realize I’m dreaming. But this one was weird, I didn’t wake up right away. I… I interacted, you know? Told them to let go of me, and they did.” 

“How did you feel when you realized it was a dream?” Joe asked. 

Blair shrugged. “Pissed off, I guess. I told them so, told them to get out of my head. Told them they weren’t even real.” Blair laughed a little. “It was the strangest thing, they kind of shuffled around looking guilty somehow, like they’d been caught out. Then they just faded away and I woke up.” 

“How did you feel once you were awake?” 

Blair took a moment to consider it. “Strong. Empowered, I guess. Like I’d gotten the upper hand. I have that dream a lot, about them pushing my head under the water, I told you about it before, right? But this was the first time I didn’t wake up terrified, the first time I knew it wasn’t real.” 

“You took back control from them,” Joe said. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“That’s really good, Blair.” 

Blair swallowed, unsure whether Joe would approve of what he wanted to suggest. “I’ve read a little about lucid dreaming, that you can train yourself to do it. And I was thinking I’d like to try that, maybe. Learn to recognize when it’s a dream, and take control. It definitely beats waking up screaming.” 

Joe was, it seemed, supportive. “That sounds like something worth trying. It’s not unheard of to use it consciously as an active strategy to deal with nightmares. I think it’s a really positive sign that you managed to break the cycle last night, so this could potentially be really effective for you. I can recommend some books and webpages for you to look at. I’ll email some information to you once I get off the phone.” 

“Yeah, thanks, that’d be great.” 

“Just remember it might not work every time, okay? And try not to be downhearted if that happens. It can take time to develop lucid dreaming as a conscious skill, so give yourself a break and keep trying. We can talk about it some more once you’ve looked at the information I’m going to send you.” 

“Okay,” Blair said. “I understand.” 

The consultation moved on to other things after that: how Blair was managing day-to-day generally, and how he was coping with his anxiety in this specific situation in a place which already held so many bad memories. Most of all Joe encouraged him to keep using the methods he’d learned which had been helping him cope. 

“We’ve just got a couple of minutes longer,” Joe said eventually, “so before I go I’d like to arrange a few more telephone appointments with you. I think to start with we should speak every two or three days, if you’re comfortable with that, because you’re in a uniquely stressful situation and it may be beneficial to keep things under review a little more frequently than usual for the time being. We can space it out more once we’re sure that things are on an even keel. When you get back home we can shift back to face-to-face sessions once or twice a week, if that seems appropriate”. 

“Yeah,” Blair agreed. “I can do that.” 

They took a moment to arrange Blair’s next three telephone appointments, then before ending the call Joe said, “You’re doing really well, Blair. Just keep reminding yourself of that. And remember, it’s okay and perfectly normal for you to have moments when it’s not going too great. You have some good strategies now to help you deal with your anxiety and panic, so make sure to use them, and remember, you have my cell number. You can get in touch with me outside of our appointments if you ever have an emergency.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Blair acknowledged. “Thanks.” The reminder of progress was a good one, because Blair found it easy to forget, sometimes, how far he’d already come, and it was far too easy for him to beat himself up when he inevitably didn’t meet some self-imposed goal. 

The phone call ended after that, and Blair took a few conscious, cleansing breaths before going to join Jim to start the day.

 


	22. Chapter 22

The rest of that day and the ones following were difficult for them both. Until they got a chance to view the CCTV footage they were trapped, so it seemed, in a tense limbo of inactivity.  And as the rest of the week progressed, something else was beginning to develop into a recognizable pattern. “Chief, just knock it off, okay?” Jim said, sounding thoroughly irritated as he came out of the bathroom. “Leave it alone.” 

“What?” Blair was puzzled. It was afternoon in the loft, and he was sitting on the couch reading through some stuff on Jim’s laptop that his therapist had emailed over after their last consultation session. “Leave what alone?” 

“Just… that thing you’ve doing all day. It’s driving me nuts.” 

“What thing? Jim, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

There was silence for a moment, then Jim sighed. “Nothing. It’s… nothing. Forget I spoke.” 

“No, come on man, you can’t say that and then just clam up. We’re supposed to be sharing stuff with each other, right? So, share. What was I doing that pissed you off?” 

Jim now looked thoroughly ashamed. “It’s nothing, Chief. I made a mistake. It wasn’t you.” 

“ _What_ wasn’t?” Blair was really exasperated now. 

Jim shook his head, his cheeks red with what seemed to be embarrassment. “I just… I kept hearing something. A kind of… a humming noise. Someone humming. I thought it was you but I…” he tailed off, shaking his head. 

 “You heard someone humming, and you thought it was me?” 

“But it wasn’t you. It was… someone else. Someone in the building. Below us, a couple floors down, I think.” 

“Your senses are acting up,” Blair said, understanding now what was going on. “Jim, we’ve been here before. With the pressure you’re under, it’s totally understandable. I can help you with this.” 

“I don’t need help,” Jim insisted. “Anyway, I can’t hear it now. I blocked it out.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Hey, you think I can’t do it without you? I’ve been coping fine ever since you left.” 

At that Blair just raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, with my senses, anyway,” Jim countered, having the grace to look at least a tiny bit shamefaced. 

It was a light bulb moment, for Blair. “But you haven’t been coping fine, have you? Jim, come on. All those things you heard, the people talking about me, you couldn't block it out, could you? It wasn’t just that you overheard it, you couldn’t _stop_ yourself from hearing it. It’s like all those other times in the past, like when Danny was killed and your emotional state affected your control. Am I wrong?" 

Jim looked more than a little embarrassed, but at least didn’t bother trying to deny it. “What do you want me to say?” he admitted grouchily. “Yeah, I had some issues while you were gone. I’m not having any issues now, okay? I can’t hear it anymore. It’s no big deal.” 

Blair's first impulse was to berate Jim for trying to deal with his sensory problems alone all those months ago, but then he just laughed weakly. “Oh, man.” 

"What?" Jim asked. 

"It's just... for a minute I wanted to say to you, why the hell didn't you call me and ask for help when all that crap was happening with your senses? But you couldn't, could you? I put myself completely out of contact. I left you high and dry. I should have been there for you, and I wasn't. Maybe if I had’ve been, it would never have come to this." 

Embarrassment turned to contrition. "You're not responsible, Blair. You never were." 

“No, maybe not,” Blair conceded. “But we’re pretty much as bad as each other, huh?” He got up from the couch and moved into Jim’s space, holding out his arms. “Come here,” he said, pulling Jim close. “I’m here now, okay? If you need my help, you’ve got it. You know that, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Jim agreed, holding Blair back tightly. 

“So, if you’re hearing stuff you shouldn’t be hearing, or any other of your senses go off the scale or stop functioning as they should, just tell me, okay? And I’ll help you get it back in control.” After a moment Blair pulled back to look up at Jim. “So, what was he humming? You know, the guy downstairs?” 

Jim shrugged. “It’s a Small World.” 

“What, the most irritating song of all time?” Blair was incredulous. “No way. You thought that was me?” 

“Yeah, pretty ridiculous, huh?” 

“Ridiculous?” Blair gave Jim a mock-punch on the chest. “I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous. Now I can’t get the goddamn thing out of my head! I’ll be humming it for the rest of my natural life now. Thanks a lot for the earworm, Jim!” 

Jim just rolled his eyes. “Welcome to my world!” 

*** 

Things lightened up a little after that, but it was far from the only time that Jim showed the strain, and it was very clear to Blair that, no matter how much he tried to bury it, this whole situation was affecting him profoundly. Jim was by turns morose and snappish, Blair bearing the brunt of his mood swings with one part irritation, two parts humor and (for the most part) an almost saintly level of understanding. It was not too difficult to forgive Jim when his brusque and sometimes biting retorts predictably morphed yet again into abject guilt and apologies, although Blair had to admit that even _his_ limits were strained at times when, after a briefly contrite interval, it all started over again. 

But Blair was determined to weather it. He knew Jim was terrified: of being found guilty, of going to prison, of leaving Blair behind to deal with the repercussions. Terrified Jim tended to be asshole Jim, so Blair didn’t take his mood swings personally. It helped that Blair felt at least partly responsible for the straits in which Jim found himself, having blindly cut Jim out of his life before leaving him to cope alone while Blair wallowed in his own issues. He was absolutely determined to put that right as best he could, by being there for Jim now.

But at some of his more vulnerable moments, Blair couldn’t help wishing that the two of them were safely back in their cozy little bubble in Durham, insulated from all of this. For all Blair’s challenges in going into therapy and working on his issues, while the two of them were living in a poky one-room apartment in a place where they only really had each other, in many ways it had been the happiest time of Blair’s life. Not only that, Blair knew Jim well enough to believe that he had been happy living that life too. That was even clearer to Blair now that he was living 24/7 with the unhappy version. 

At the very least, Blair wished for nothing more than a chance for the two of them to head off together, maybe go camping and fishing out in the wilderness to help take Jim’s mind off things, but the terms of Jim’s bail meant that he was unable to leave town. In the absence of anything else, therefore, and at Blair’s insistence, they made an effort to get out of the loft as much as possible. Part of Blair’s need to be out and about was his own self-interest: he was utterly terrified of his agoraphobia returning full-force and forcing him to become a shut-in, now that he didn’t have the daily routine of his job to get him out and about. But it wasn’t all about him; he could also see how desperately Jim needed to keep his mind and body occupied. So they filled the days walking on the beach for hours at a time, visiting museums and bookstores, and even going to the movies and daringly holding hands in the dark.

That was as close as they got to behaving like lovers, though. The single erotic encounter they’d engaged in, before Jim had left Blair behind in Durham, seemed all-but forgotten. Neither of them had alluded to it since Blair had arrived here, nor made any attempt to approach each other sexually, although their constant affection for one another was clear in a myriad of ways. At night they slept fitfully beside each other, their stress and worry undoubtedly magnified by the fact it was mutual. At those times their physical closeness was a comforting and familiar thing, but there was no suggestion from either of them that it could become something more at this time. It felt more and more, as the days went on, as though their deeper relationship was on hold until this whole mess could be resolved. 

One afternoon about a week after Jim’s arraignment, the phone rang. Hearing just one side of the conversation, Blair easily deduced who was speaking and what it was about. As soon as Jim put the phone down he said, “Your lawyer’s got the CCTV footage, huh?” 

Jim sighed. “Yeah. But he doesn’t sound too hopeful about it.” 

“So, can we go see it?”

Jim nodded. “He can see us in an hour.”

This time when they reached the lawyer’s office, Blair stuck close by Jim’s side as they were beckoned in. He had made it abundantly clear on the way over here that he was not going to be excluded from this viewing (although to be fair, Jim had not suggested at all that he should be). Instead, in a rare public show of solidarity, Jim reached out to Blair and they walked into Dave Murray’s office together hand-in-hand. They pulled apart inside before sitting down, but that brief gesture, showing that even in these troubled times they were connected, warmed Blair’s heart.

Dave drew the blinds, and projected the footage onto a pull-down screen in his office. “I’ve watched it a couple of times,” he said as the screen flickered into life. “There’s not much to see, I’m afraid.”

The image was in black and white, and showed an empty street at night. There was no sound. “Keep watching,” Murray directed them. “Here it comes.”

Suddenly, two indistinct figures came into view. The first – by his height and build clearly not Jim – was advancing on the other, fist raised. “That’s when Knowle swung at me,” Jim recounted. Both figures disappeared off-screen for a few seconds, then suddenly both were back in the frame, scuffling with each other. The taller of the two – this time undoubtedly Jim – raised both arms and pushed the other guy backwards. It was a forceful push, resulting in Knowle disappearing off-frame, apparently falling backwards.

“You pushed him over?” Blair queried.

“He wasn’t too steady on his feet,” Jim answered. “He fell backwards, but he wasn’t hurt. Didn’t hit his head or anything like that.” On the screen, Jim could be seen watching as his opponent fell, before striding over toward him and out of frame. “I helped him up straight afterward,” Jim said, indicating what they’d just watched, “and we talked for a while. Then he went one way and I went the other.”

There was no sign of any further movement on the screen. After a moment Blair turned to look at Dave. “Is there more? Do either of them reappear? Is there any sign of Jim walking away?”

Dave Murray shook his head. He clicked the remote and the screen went dark. “That’s it,” he said. “There’s nothing else to see on this tape after that. Certainly nothing that will help your case,” he said, addressing Jim.

Blair and Jim exchanged a meaningful glance, and Jim turned to his lawyer. “Dave,” he asked. “Do you mind if I take this home to look at it?”

“With, ah, Jim’s experience as a police officer,” Blair interjected quickly, falling back into his old habit of providing a mundane rationale for an unusual request, “he’s trained to notice detail. He might see something that you or I would miss.”

Thankfully, Murray bought it. “It’s worth a try, so yes, no problem. I had a spare copy made, I’ll have my secretary get it for you.”

***

Back at the loft, they played the tape through twice, each time Jim getting more and more despondent and irritated. “This is a waste of time,” he said with annoyance after the second time they watched it through. “Like Murray said, that’s it, there’s nothing more to see.”

“Okay, just relax,” Blair said placatingly. “We’re just going to run it again, but this time we’ll take it frame by frame, okay?”

Jim shook his head. “Forget it. There’s nothing to see. Absolutely nothing, Chief.”

“Hey come on, don’t give up. One more time, man. If there’s something to find, you’ll find it. Look at the back of the frame. Is there anyone else on the street? After the push-and-shove, is there any sign of you or Knowle walking past in the background on your own? Come on, Jim. You’ve got to try!”

“I’ve already tried. There’s nothing,” Jim said shortly. Then, with immense bad humor, “I’ve got a headache.” He got up and snatched the remote from Blair, and stabbed at the power button. Then, as the TV went black, he threw the remote angrily across the room. Into the shocked silence that followed, he declared. “I’m going to bed.”

Blair was left alone on the couch as Jim trod angrily up the stairs.

Eventually, after turning out the lights and using the bathroom, Blair came to join Jim in the bed where he was lying still and tense, pretending to be asleep. Blair climbed in under the covers, and neither of them spoke, although Blair was hyperaware for what felt like hours of Jim lying sleepless beside him, until his own awareness drifted gradually into slumber.

That night when the dreams came, Blair woke up gasping for air. Jim held him close for the rest of the night and, when morning came, was quietly solicitous and gentle. But during the hours that followed they trod carefully around each other, and neither of them mentioned the tape.

But Blair didn’t forget, and had no intention of giving up, or of allowing Jim to give up. Secretly he wracked his brain for ideas, and resolved to find some way, _any_ way, to get them out of this mess.

 


	23. Chapter 23

The tense monotony was broken a couple of days later when Dave Murray’s secretary called. After putting down the phone Jim told Blair, “I need to go see him right away. Apparently there’s been a development in the case. You coming along?”

“Do you mind if I give it a miss this time?” Blair said. “I’m, uh, a little tired today.”

Instantly concerned, Jim looked at him a little more closely. Blair seemed okay on the surface, if a little pale, but of course he was still battling his own demons. “Are you all right?” Jim asked, mentally berating himself for not paying better attention to how Blair was coping. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Blair smiled easily, seeming sincere. “I could just do with some quiet time. I’ll just hang out here, maybe do some meditation. My therapist gave me some stuff to be working on, and I could use some space to concentrate on it. But really, I’m okay, man. Don’t worry, okay?”

“No problem, Chief. Do whatever you need to do.” Guilt reared its ugly head again; Blair was here, dealing with all of Jim’s crap, despite having a tough time of it himself, and Jim had been anything but thankful the past few days. “Take it easy, and don’t bother cooking anything, okay? I’ll bring takeout back for dinner. How about I get something from that place you like, the one on the corner of Seventh and Broadway?”

“What, the Turkish place? Ephesus?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Oh, yeah!” Blair’s enthusiasm made Jim grin. Blair had loved that restaurant back when they’d both lived and worked together in Cascade. “Get chicken shawerma with pita. Oh and hey, how about that shrimp dish they do, karides guvec? And some tzatziki and baba ghanoush. Oh, and that salad they do with beets and goats cheese, I love that stuff.”

“Yeah, no problem, I’ll bring plenty of everything back. If the portions are as big as they used to be, we’ll be eating Turkish for days.”

Blair’s obviously delighted anticipation of takeout from one of his favorite restaurants was enough to warm Jim right through, right until he reached street level and got into his truck. Once seated behind the wheel, anxiety set back in. Dave Murray’s secretary had indicated on the phone that something had come up, something urgent, but despite Jim’s prompting had completely avoided going into any detail. He could have read the situation completely wrong, but Jim felt in his gut that it wasn’t going to be good.

When he arrived at Murray’s office, Jim was horrified to discover that one of his worst nightmares had come to pass. “I got a heads up from a source in the D.A.’s office,” Murray told him, after ushering him into his office. “Right now it’s unconfirmed; the prosecution haven’t officially released their list of witnesses for the trial yet. But it makes logical sense so I think it’s likely to be accurate.” Murray took a deep breath, then said, “The D.A. plans to put Blair on the stand to testify for the prosecution.”

“What?” Jim was appalled. “No way! Why the hell do they want to call Blair? He wasn’t even in Cascade when Knowle was assaulted! How can they regard him as any kind of witness?”

“They’ll inevitably ask him about your state of mind when you arrived in Durham, and your stated reasons for going there,” Dave explained. “But most of all, I’m pretty sure they’re going to use Blair to demonstrate motive. They’ll quiz him about his assault and the aftermath, and ask him about how you've coped with it. Basically they’ll use his testimony to show that you were angry enough to kill when you overheard Knowle talking about Blair.”

“No, no way,” Jim said firmly. There was no way in hell he would allow that to happen. The trauma of Blair’s assault had been bad enough, but Jim was convinced that the experience of reliving every sordid detail of it in court had had screwed him up even more. He took a breath, resigned. There was no other way to handle this. “Dave, I need you to call the D.A.”

“Jim, don’t do anything rash,” Murray cautioned.

But Jim’s mind was already made up. “Don’t try to talk me out of it,” he insisted.

“Jim-”

But Jim was determined. “Call the D.A.,” he said again. “Goddamn it Dave, call her!”

Dave looked at him sadly. “I hope you know what you’re asking me to do,” he said.

“Yeah, I know exactly what I’m asking,” Jim insisted. “There’s no way I’ll let them do that to Blair. There’s only one thing I _can_ do. I need you to talk to the D.A. and tell her I’m willing to plead guilty to assault and battery.”


	24. Chapter 24

Hospitals were not Blair’s favorite places. Of course, he admitted to himself wryly, not many places were these days, so he might as well just suck it up and treat this just like he did everything else: do it anyway, be mindful of his emotions and reactions, and use the tools and strategies he’d been practicing to get him through difficult times. 

And damn it, this whole thing was difficult, so he’d better just get on with it. 

Now he was here he felt just the tiniest bit of guilt at not being upfront with Jim, but in his own defense he hadn’t actually told a lie. He’d meant it when he’d told Jim he needed some time to himself, some time to process his thoughts and emotions and keep working on his issues. It was only after Jim had left, when he found himself with a sudden window of opportunity, that he’d grasped the moment and committed himself to this impulsive action. 

Blair had decided to do this in the absence of any other inspiration. Fundamentally he was struggling to understand why Knowle had implicated Jim as his attacker, when Jim had clearly done no such thing. At last, with no other avenue to pursue, Blair had decided he would seek the answer himself straight from the horse’s mouth. 

Blair took a few conscious moments to be still, to breathe and relax his shoulders, to find his equilibrium. Then decisively he stepped through the door and into the ward. 

There were two beds in the room, but only one was occupied. Greg Knowle was in the bed nearest the window, lying on top of the bedcovers, still wearing the stained tee-shirt and sweatpants he’d worn to the physical therapy session Blair had discovered he’d attended a short while ago. As he crossed the room, Blair’s misgivings about a potential physical confrontation dissolved almost instantly into nothing when he finally saw him in the flesh. 

Greg Knowle was thin and gaunt, his bruises clearly having faded, but an ugly indented scar marred the right side of his head, with tufts of hair patchily beginning to grow back around it. He wasn’t very old, this guy; probably around Blair’s age or a little younger. He looked vulnerable and insubstantial, and the expression on his face, as he gazed toward the window, was so lost and sad that it made Bair’s gut contract with empathy. 

Blair knew he’d once borne exactly the same expression, here in this very hospital. Being a victim of violence took a distinct and recognizable toll on a person. 

Blair must have made a sound because Knowle suddenly turned to look at him, his expression wary and questioning. 

“Um, hi,” Blair said carefully. “You’re Greg, right?” he asked. When Knowle nodded, he said, “Mind if I come in, talk to you awhile?” 

Knowle swallowed, and he shifted a little in the bed, pushing himself up. “Do I know you?” he asked. 

“Um, no. We’ve never met,” Blair admitted. He came over to stand beside Knowle’s bed, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Blair Sandburg,” he said. 

Knowle physically flinched, and pointedly didn’t take Blair’s hand, instead recoiling a little in the bed. “You’re here because of Ellison, huh?” The vulnerability was replaced by something else: a mixture of anger and fear that Blair recognized and empathized with all too well. “Is he here?” Knowle tried to peer past Blair. His voice was tense, his eyes a little wild. 

“No! No, Greg!” Blair tried to reassure, since Knowle was clearly spooked at the very mention of Jim’s name. “Listen to me, I’m here alone. Jim doesn’t even know where I am, okay? Calm down, man. Take it easy.” 

“Yeah, right,” Knowle said resentfully. “Like I’m gonna believe that.” His expression had shifted from panic to hostility, but the fear was clearly still there underneath. 

“Look,” Blair said, a hint of firmness in his own voice now. “Whether you believe it or not, I’m here alone. And I’ve come to talk; just talk, that’s all. And there is no way,” he said emphatically, “that I want to see you get hurt any more than you already have. No one deserves what happened to you, man. No one.” 

A few tense moments went by, but the wariness and hostility gradually scaled back. The guy continued to watch Blair distrustfully, however. “So what the hell could you and I have to talk about?” he demanded. “You were Ellison’s partner, right? So why would you even begin to care about me?” 

Blair swallowed. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, and he’d been right. The worst part was that he totally understood Greg’s reaction, so he decided simply to show that he wasn’t an enemy. “I know what it feels like, okay? To be hurt. I especially know what it’s like to… to believe you’ve been hurt by a fellow cop, by someone you thought you could trust. I know how it feels to be lying in a hospital bed, after someone beat the shit out of you and left you for dead. I know how that feels, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” 

He had Knowle off-balance now. “Look, man. I’m sorry about what happened to you. But… I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t even here in Cascade when it happened.” 

“I know,” Blair acknowledged easily. 

“Ellison had no cause to beat up on me,” Greg went on resentfully. “Goddamn it, I only heard about what happened to you that night. Someone, one of the other guys, left a photo on my desk, okay? But I didn’t know about it before that, I swear. I was just dragged into the conversation. I played along; I’m new here, I was still getting to know people, trying to fit in. But it was sick, man. I thought the photo was disgusting, and what they were saying was sick, and I didn’t want anything to do with it, I swear.” 

Blair nodded. “I believe you,” he said. 

“So why the hell didn’t your partner?” Knowle demanded. “I told him exactly the same thing. Then, as soon as I turned my back on him, he tried to kill me.” 

“Greg, you said you turned your back on Jim,” Blair asked carefully. “Were you hit from behind?” 

“I’ve gone over and over it in my head,” Greg conceded. “I can’t remember much. But I remember getting into it with Ellison after I left the bar. He was waiting outside for me. I pushed him away, told him to leave me out of it. I told him it had nothing to do with me, that I didn’t want any part of it.” 

“So what did he say?” Blair asked. 

“He pushed me around a little; nothing major, man, I could handle it, and I didn’t want any trouble. He calmed down some when he saw I didn’t want to fight, then we talked awhile. He told me to go home, and I left. I remember that much. I thought he’d gone in the opposite direction but he must have followed me, because they said I was found a few streets away. But I don’t remember what happened after I walked away from him, my mind is totally blank.” 

The words Greg was speaking right now did not completely correlate with the statement Blair had read, in which Greg identified Jim as the one who’d hit him. “Are you saying that you saw Jim walk away, but later on you saw him following you?” 

“I saw him walk away. I don’t remember what happened after that, I’m still confused about what all went on.” Knowle shrugged. “But who the hell else had cause to hit me like that? He’s the only person in Cascade I’ve had any trouble with. It’s got to have been him.” 

It was difficult for Blair to contain his relief. If Greg testified the same thing on the stand - that he’d seen Jim walk away in the opposite direction, that he hadn’t seen him following him and didn’t remember the actual assault - then there might be enough reasonable doubt to put Jim in the clear. Surely the discrepancies between what Greg had said in his statement (no doubt given when he’d been still confused after waking from his coma) and what he was saying now would give the jury pause? 

But Greg was clearly not unaware of Blair’s agenda. “You don’t believe he did it,” he stated flatly. 

“No,” Blair admitted. “I don’t. But I do believe that you’re telling me the truth. I know you and he had an argument, and I know what it was about, because Jim said the same thing as you. But he said he walked away from you after that and went home. He didn’t follow you, and it wasn’t him who hit you. Actually, he feels guilty that he let you walk away instead of putting you in a cab. He said you were pretty wasted, man.” 

“Yeah, right,” Knowle said resentfully. “Why am I not surprised he’d say that.” But Blair thought for a second that there might have been a flicker of doubt. He hoped so, anyway. After a few moments, Knowle sighed. “Look, this isn’t the best time, okay? I’ve just gotten back from P.T., and I’m wiped. I’m gonna take a shower and get some sleep. And honestly, I don’t know what more you and I have to say to each other. I’m sorry about what happened to you, truly I am. But none of it has anything to do with me.  And I gotta tell you, man, I am really pissed off about this whole thing. I nearly died, and my career is in tatters unless I get my health and mobility back. Being in a coma all that time, it’s messed up my whole body, not just my memory. Right now, I’m working on that pretty hard.” 

“Good for you,” Blair said sincerely. “Seriously, man, I mean it. I wish you the best with all of it.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” As Blair turned to go, Knowle caused him to pause when he added, “Look, I wish you luck too, okay? No deserves what you went through either. But hey,” Blair turned to look as Greg added, “I think you and me should stay away from each other from now on, okay? Your partner tried to kill me. That’s not something that I can forgive, and I don’t think you and I will ever see eye-to-eye on that.” 

Blair nodded sadly. “See you around, Greg,” he said, and he left the room. 

But he didn’t leave the hospital. Instead, an idea had already taken hold. He detoured into the men’s bathroom just down the hall and waited there for a while, surreptitiously keeping watch until the right moment. A couple of orderlies went into to Greg’s room, presumably to help him shower and settle him back into bed after therapy. Just over half-an-hour later they exited quietly, closing the door softly behind them as though trying not to wake the occupant. 

Blair waited a little longer, then cautiously slipped back in, warily eyeing the now sleeping figure on the bed as he moved across the room. As soon as he was certain that Greg was deeply asleep he began his search and found exactly what he’d been hoping to find in the nightstand beside the bed: the well-worn, sweat-stained tee-shirt Greg had worn to his therapy session. He slipped it into his backpack and headed out, mission accomplished.

 


	25. Chapter 25

Jim’s feet were leaden as he walked out of the elevator. He rubbed his eyes tiredly with one hand as he walked down the hall toward the loft, fishing around in his pocket with the other for the key. 

He paused outside the door, key in hand, reluctant in the extreme to go inside. He knew that this wouldn’t be easy. He’d already lost one battle today when his lawyer had insisted he go home and think about it overnight, but Jim had already made up his mind to plead guilty to a misdemeanor. That way, his lawyer could try to cut a deal by pointing to Jim’s previous good character, and use the impact that Blair’s assault had had on him as mitigation. Jim still hated to use Blair even that much, but at least then he wouldn’t be forced to take the stand. No way – no _way_ – would Jim ever consider putting him through that again. 

The second battle would now begin, as Jim absolutely knew that Blair would not approve of what he planned to do. 

Damn it, Jim didn’t approve either. He was innocent: he knew that, and Blair knew that. But the fact remained that he had no evidence on his side, nothing at all, while the victim’s eyewitness account and circumstantial evidence were stacked up against him. 

There was no way he could win this case, and no way he would put Blair in a position where he was forced to publicly rehash yet again the terrible ordeal that he’d gone through. It was time to face facts. Pleading guilty to a misdemeanor would hopefully result in a non-custodial sentence, or at the very worst a short stretch in prison. To continue to plead not guilty, however, would simply get him locked away for a long, long time. 

If Jim was totally honest, it wasn’t just Blair who he wanted to spare. Any time spent in prison would be dangerous for an ex-cop like him, but years in that environment – which was the likely sentence if he was found guilty of attempted murder - would be sheer torture. For all his tough-guy reputation, he quite simply didn’t think he’d be able to handle it. He’d gone undercover in prison once, and that had come close enough to breaking him – far closer than he’d ever admitted, even to Blair. The thought of going back there for real, with a metaphorical target marked ‘cop’ on his back while struggling every night to block out the sounds of men locked up and in despair, scared the hell out of him. 

Inside the loft all was quiet. Jim had expected Blair to be home, so he was surprised to find the place empty. A short note on the kitchen counter, in Blair’s sprawling handwriting, indicated he’d headed out for a while and would be back in time for dinner. It didn’t give any indication of where he’d actually gone. 

For the millionth time, as he placed the note back on the counter-top, Jim marveled at how well Blair was coping. Despite all his psychological problems and the fact that he’d previously given every impression that he’d never consider coming back to Cascade, here he was, having put all of his own issues on one side, focusing the entirety of his energy on helping Jim. 

A rush of fond emotion enveloped Jim, followed by dismay at the thought of having to admit to Blair that he’d pretty much given up. Blair, quite clearly, was a guy who never gave up. In this respect, Jim was most definitely his inferior. 

Wishing he had half as much courage as his partner Jim settled down to wait for his return, and tried to find the words that would make him understand what he had to do. 

 

*** 

 

Blair felt pretty pleased with himself when he arrived back at the loft. He’d gotten the bus from the hospital then, after one additional errand, splurged on a cab home. The whole thing had been managed with a minimum of stress, despite the dubious legality of some of his actions. 

Jim was already home when he went inside, sitting on the couch. “Hey,” Blair greeted, as he dropped his bag to the floor and hung his coat up beside the door. “You get the food, man?”

“No,” Jim said. “I’m sorry, Chief. I forgot.” 

The tone of Jim’s voice set off instant alarm bells. His heart leaping with sudden misgiving, Blair moved around to sit beside him. Jim was pale and staring off into space, the muscles in his jaw jumping with stress. 

“What’s wrong?” Blair asked softly, taking his hand and enfolding it in both of his. “What did Dave say?” 

“I…” Jim paused, shaking his head. “I need to tell you something. And I need you to listen.” He paused and looked at Blair, his face closed-off and tight around the eyes. “Most of all, I need you not to talk me out of it.” 

“Hey, I’m listening,” Blair said, but whatever it was that Jim was about to say was already scaring him half to death. 

Jim nodded, and took a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision,” he said. “My lawyer is going to the D.A. tomorrow to tell her I’ll plead guilty to assault and battery.” 

“What?” Blair let go of Jim’s hand. “No way, you can’t do that!” 

“You said you wouldn’t argue,” Jim pointed out. 

“I said I was _listening_ , Jim. And I am. But if you think you’re going to avoid an argument about that stupid idea,” Blair laughed humorlessly, “You are so wrong I don’t even know where to start.” 

“Blair,” Jim said, with what sounded like infinite patience, and which Blair knew was nothing of the kind. “I’m trying to be reasonable here.” 

“No, you’re not,” Blair insisted. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

“Goddamn it, Sandburg.” Blair had known all along that anger and impatience wouldn’t take long to surface. “I have no choice, okay? It’s got to be this way!” 

“Why?” demanded Blair. 

“Because,” he paused, imbuing his next words with finality, “I have no choice.” 

“That’s not an answer, Jim.” Suspicions were beginning to rise. “What happened? What are you not telling me?” 

Jim didn’t meet Blair’s eyes. “Nothing.” 

“Don’t give me that crap.” Suddenly, Blair was incensed. “You promised me, Jim. You promised me that you wouldn’t lie to me.” 

That made Jim look at him. “I’m not lying,” he said. “I have no choice, it’s as simple as that. There’s no way I can win this case, Chief. I’m heading for years in prison, here. And I’ll be absolutely honest with you: I think that would kill me.” 

But Blair had no intention of giving in, despite Jim’s obvious attempt to distract him by playing on his sympathy. “What makes you think you’re gonna lose? What’s changed since this morning?” 

Jim looked away again, and didn’t speak. 

Abruptly Blair stood up. This time, when he spoke, his voice was quiet, measured and full of ice. “You promised me, Jim. You promised me that you’d tell me the whole truth, right after I arrived. That you wouldn’t lie to me anymore. Remember that, huh?” 

“I’m not lying,” Jim said again, but his determination was clearly ebbing. 

Blair nodded in satisfaction at that: he knew he had Jim on the ropes. Time to press his advantage. “You’re lying by omission,” he said. “Again.” He knew why this was: Jim was terrified, Jim was hiding something, and was sparing him the goddamn details again, but Blair wasn’t about to put up with it. “Tell me the truth, man, or I’m out of here and on the next flight back to North Carolina.” As Jim looked up at him in shock, Blair added, “I’m completely serious.” 

“Blair,” Jim protested, but despite his obviously extreme unhappiness, didn’t elaborate further. “Please. Just try to understand, okay? It’s got to be this way.” 

But Blair had long been a gambling man, and knew full well when his bluff was being called. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go pack. See you around, man.” 

He was halfway up the stairs before Jim’s voice stopped him. “They’re going to make you testify for the prosecution.” It sounded as though the words had been ripped out of him. 

Blair’s held breath went out of him with a relieved sigh. Jesus, was that all? He turned round and came back down the stairs. “And what, you think I’m not prepared to do that for you?” Blair demanded, as soon as he was standing in front of Jim. “To refute whatever crap they try to make me say about you?” 

Jim looked thoroughly miserable. “I know you’d do it,” Jim said. “I… just. Chief, I just don’t want you to have to go through that. To stand up in court and get quizzed about what happened to you all over again. Because that is exactly what they’re planning to do.” 

Blair guessed what Jim was implying. “They’ll, what, try to show how what happened to me made you angry enough to try to kill Knowle?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I’m not _that_ fragile, you know,” Blair said, a little resentfully. “And hey, you don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, man. That’s up to me.” Then Blair shrugged. “Anyway, even if they try to use me against you, their case is based on purely circumstantial evidence, and the only eye-witness is a guy with a head injury who can’t remember what happened, or even keep his story straight from one day to the next.” 

Jim shook his head. “I wish I had your confidence.” 

Blair shrugged. “It’s not just confidence. Guess who I went to see today?” 

“Who?” 

“Greg Knowle.” 

Jim exploded off the couch. “You did what?” 

Blair nodded. “I called by the hospital. Get this: he’s now saying he didn’t see you following him, he’s just assuming it was you who hit him. Compare that with his witness statement, which says the complete opposite, and what you have there is enough reasonable doubt to make the jury think twice about convicting you.” 

“People get convicted all the time on less than that,” Jim said angrily. “You know that, Chief! And haven’t you learned anything, all the years you rode with me? You’ve just tampered with a witness! You could go to jail for that!” 

“I just spoke to him briefly, it’s no big deal. I didn’t try to change his mind or anything. Well, not much, anyway.” Blair didn’t feel even slightly contrite. “And that’s not all I did. Take a look at this.” He went over to where he’d left his backpack and picked it up. Opening it, he took out a piece of cloth, which he’d wrapped in clear plastic, all the better to keep its odor fresh. “This is Greg’s tee-shirt,” he said, showing it to Jim. “I managed to get hold of one that’s good and sweaty. And this?” He held up a bottle of beer. “This is what the bartender at the Clover Bar told me the cops were all drinking that night, including Greg. I called in there as well on the way home.” 

Jim was looking at him like he’d lost his mind. And not just looking, apparently. “Sandburg, are you out of your mind?” 

“I’ve honestly never felt better in my life,” Blair said. And to his surprise, given everything that he’d been struggling with lately, he realized that he actually meant it. Then he got tired of waiting for Jim to get a clue. “Get with the program, Jim, we used to do this stuff all the time! You and I are going back to the place Greg was attacked. You’re going to breathe in a mixture of Greg’s stale sweat and the beer he was drinking that night, and you’re going to see where it leads you. The last time we were there your senses were offline because of stress - don’t even _try_ to deny it, man! – and you had no definitive reference scent to focus in on. Now, you do.” 

Jim sighed, apparently having conceded defeat. “Are you always going to be this pushy?” he asked grouchily, joining Blair over by the door and reaching for his jacket. 

“You’d better believe it,” Blair answered. “Get used to it, man! And hey, I’m feeling the nostalgia here. This is just like old times.” 

“It’s already like you’ve never been away,” Jim muttered as he opened the door and went out. 

“I heard that!” Blair protested. But he grinned as he grabbed his own coat and followed after, already eager for the thrill of the chase.

 


	26. Chapter 26

Jim parked up a couple of blocks from where Greg Knowle had been found. As he cut the engine Blair put out a hand and rested it on Jim’s arm, halting him from getting out of the truck. “Before we start, we’re gonna run through a simple breathing exercise, okay? Just to center you and get you focused.” Clearly sensing Jim’s reluctance, he smiled softly. “Hey, it’s nothing difficult, so don’t worry. We used to do something similar, back in the day. It’s just… I know how stressed out you are, and if this is going to work, you need to let all of that go, just for a little while. This’ll help you with that.”

Truthfully, Jim just wanted to get it over with. He fully expected this to be the latest in yet another long line of failures, and had really only agreed to go along with it because seeing Blair this animated and driven was something he’d feared he’d never see again, and he really didn’t want to rain on Blair’s parade. He knew that going through the motions of this charade was simply killing time until an inevitable argument and capitulation on Blair’s part, but accepted that it would be a dick move to rush that moment along. “Okay, Teach,” Jim said, faking interest for Blair’s sake. “That deep breathing stuff, right? I know how to do that.”

“No, not the deep breathing, or the visualization stuff.” Blair said. “All you’re gonna do this time is breathe normally. That’s it.”

“Doesn’t sound like much,” Jim groused. “How is that supposed to help? I’m doing that already!”

Blair smiled at him. “Well, you know, that’s what I used to think until I tried it. It’s not so much that you’re breathing normally, it’s that you’re paying attention to it. How it feels, how it sounds. The sensation of air entering your nose, your lungs, how it feels when you exhale. It grounds you in the moment, here in the present. It helps you to know that you’re breathing; that you’re okay.” He paused, and squeezed Jim’s arm. “Come on,” he said. “Sit back, get comfortable. Close your eyes.”

“This is stupid,” Jim couldn’t help saying. But he did as he was told. “Now what?”

He felt Blair’s hand tighten again on his arm. “For a start, we’re going to do this slightly differently because you’re a sentinel and I don’t want you to zone. Normally, I’d say pay attention only to your breathing, but because you’re such a high achiever,” he could hear the smile in Blair’s voice as he continued, “I want you to concentrate on two things simultaneously. One: the sensation of my hand on your arm, keep awareness of that in your mind at all times. Two: don’t try to consciously change your breathing pattern, just observe it.”

Jim nodded to show he understood. Just feel Blair’s hand on his arm, warm, heavy, reassuring, and keep breathing. He could do that.

Blair’s voice was softer, now. “You’re aware of it already, right? It feels slightly cooler in your nostrils when you take a breath, and you feel it stirring the tiny hairs in your nose as you breathe out. You feel your chest rising and falling, you hear the sound of the air as you exhale. Keep noticing those things, what else can you feel? When your chest rises, can you feel your clothes moving against your skin? How does it feel when you inhale and exhale in the back of your throat, in your neck, in your mouth? What odors can you detect?”

Jim tried. He could feel the soft material of his shirt tightening and slackening with his breaths across his chest and his back; could smell the stuff he’d used to polish the inside of the truck. The sweet chemical smell of clean clothes, the warm, reassuring scent that said _Blair_ , the hot spot on his arm where Blair’s hand lay upon it.

 _Blair_. Deep sorrow filled him; he was going to let Blair down all over again. This wasn’t going to work.

“If your attention wanders that’s okay,” Blair’s voice came again, interrupting the inevitable spiral of negative thought as if he somehow _knew_ Jim’s despair had intruded. “But you need to draw your attention back when that happens. Recognize the distraction, then put it to one side. Focus on your breathing, think only of that. Feel my hand where it’s touching you, but keep focused on your breath, on your chest rising and falling, on the sensations and smell and sound of the air as it enters and exits your body. Just breathe, Jim. Know that it’s okay - that _you’re_ okay - and just _breathe_.”

Blair’s voice faded into silence; or maybe Jim simply stopped hearing him, because now he _had_ it: he was focusing on his breaths. In, out. In; out. And again. Breathe in: _the coolness as it enters, the whispering inhale, the warm, safe, familiar smells of Blair, of the interior of his truck. The sensation as he sucked it down, down into his body; how it felt/tasted in his throat, his mouth,  his lungs, his chest rising, cloth stretching over skin, life-affirming oxygen warming and renewing, scalp tingling, face tingling, arms and legs infused right down to his toes._ Then – brief hold! _–_ and let it go: _the rhythmic rush of it out of his body washing away impurities, washing away his fears, before the next breath… in, out, in, out…_

He’d lost all track of time, it seemed, so engrossed was he, before Blair’s voice lured him gradually back. “...back to the surface,” Blair was saying, “allow your awareness to expand, to reach out, accepting and keeping recognition of your breathing but expanding your consciousness outward, taking in the rest of your body, taking in my voice, knowing that you’re here, now, that you’re safe, that _I’m_ safe, inside the truck. And then: open your eyes.”

Jim did, his breathing underpinning and defining him as he came back to awareness. He felt boneless, his sense of peace and calmness profound. Turning his head with an effort, he looked at Blair languidly and smiled. “Wow,” he said.

Blair was watching him fondly, lovingly. His hand was still on Jim’s arm, the fingers stirring a little, stroking. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Amazing.” Jim meant it; he truly did. He took another conscious breath, and would have drifted seamlessly back into the meditation if only Blair’s tightening fingers hadn’t warned him against it. “I could get addicted to that.” Jim stretched, yawning, trying to make himself wake up all the way; not really wanting to. “I can’t remember ever feeling this relaxed.”

“Wow,” Blair echoed, looking a little awestruck. “I mean, I find it helpful myself, you know? It’s great for grounding you in the here and now, and especially for managing anxiety. But it must be something else to experience it as a sentinel. You were gone, man. I’ve never seen you go that deep.” Blair glanced at his watch. “You’ve been under for nearly an hour. It’s taken me about fifteen minutes to call you back.”

As Blair spoke, Jim realized the familiarity of what he’d just done. It was something Blair had been doing recently himself, something he’d been using to get him through episodes of panic, which he did unobtrusively even out in public when he needed to. Clearly, with his sentinel senses, it was not something Jim could safely indulge in so easily. “I’m not so sure I should do that again,” Jim admitted, a little concerned at how zoned out he’d been. “I got really into it, and I guess I forgot to concentrate on your hand on my arm as well.” Jim was a little ashamed of his lack of control, he really should know better.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Blair disagreed. “It’s just a matter of learning control, like everything else, and next time I’ll help you split your attention more effectively. There are degrees of immersion, you know? With practice, you can learn to concentrate on your breath more or less shallowly depending on the circumstances. It’s pretty much the same for me. Except, you know, _not_ the same, obviously! What I mean is, sometimes I give it my all, and other times I use it just a little, to get me by. It’s the same for you, just kind of more extreme. We just need to work on some specific strategies to help you control it.”

“Hm,” Jim acknowledged. “So what now, Teach?”

Blair smiled again. “Now, you keep hold of that good feeling. Know you’re safe; know you’re in control. If you get anxious or stressed, take a moment to concentrate on your next few breaths, and allow them to bring you back to where you need to be.” Blair’s hand, which had remained on Jim’s arm the whole time, slid down to link fingers with Jim. “Whatever happens, I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere, man.”

***

 Despite his encouraging words, Blair kept a slightly anxious eye on Jim as they got out of the truck and walked to the place Greg Knowle’s unconscious body had been found. Despite all the years they’d been together, and the many tests Blair had conducted on Jim’s senses, it was amazing how he could still sometimes forget how extraordinary Jim was, only to be reminded in the most profound of ways. At this particular moment, he couldn’t help but dwell on how vulnerable Jim could sometimes be when he was lost in his senses. It made Blair feel deeply protective, and reminded him of the profound responsibility he had been granted in gaining the partnership and love of this incredible man. 

When they reached the alleyway, Blair reached into his backpack and pulled out the plastic-wrapped tee-shirt he’d taken from the hospital, and also the bottle of beer he’d retrieved from the Clover Bar. He passed the tee-shirt to Jim, then extracted his Swiss army knife from the front pocket of his bag and used it to flip the lid on the beer. 

At his urging, Jim ripped open the plastic. Grimacing, he took a sniff. “Jesus, Sandburg,” he grouched. “Next time you visit this guy, take him some deodorant, okay?” 

Blair just grinned, and handed him the beer. “Take a whiff of this,” he said. “Then the tee-shirt again. Blend the two odors together in your mind, and think back to that night.” 

Jim did as he was directed, alternating between the tee-shirt and the beer. After a few moments his brow creased, and he frowned. “There’s something…” he said. “It’s… almost there, but not quite right.” 

“What’s missing?” Blair asked. 

“There was something else. Something like… leather. He was wearing a leather jacket, new, I think. That new leather smell.” 

“Good, that’s good, Jim. You know that smell, right? It’s something you recognize, something you can bring to mind. Think of it now, bring it forward, and smell his sweat again, and the beer. Blend all three of those smells together.” 

Blair watched as Jim frowned, concentrating. Then, after a moment, he nodded. 

“You got it?” Blair asked. 

“Yeah, I got it.” He stood there for a moment or two longer, the tee-shirt and beer in his hand, then turned his head. “I smell… It’s something… similar, not quite the same, but…” He looked at Blair as though astonished. “It’s this way, Chief,” he said, turning on his heel and striding off, Blair scurrying after. 

Jim led them down the end of the alley, out onto the street and along a couple of blocks, then into another one. There, he paused and sniffed the air, before nodding. “Come on,” he urged, rather superfluously, as Blair had no intention of straying from his side. 

At the far end of the alley a high chain-link fence blocked their exit, a parking lot with only one or two parked vehicles in its wide expanse on the other side. No one seemed to be around. Jim made to scale the fence, but Blair stopped him. “Hey, we can go back out of the alley and around the block, and access the parking lot from the street. If this is leading us anywhere important it’d be better not to leave our fingerprints all over the place, huh?” 

Looking impatient – his focus was clearly all on pursuing the scent he’d locked onto – Jim agreed. Three or four minutes later they walked into the parking lot from the other direction, and Jim led them unerringly toward the fence they’d first approached from the other side. 

An overflowing dumpster could be seen beside the wall near the fence. Jim halted, then moved around to peer in the dark recess behind it. “Here. It’s in here,” he said. He looked over at Blair. “You got a flashlight in your bag, Chief?” 

Blair looked at him witheringly. “No,” he said, “but you don’t need one, man.” 

Jim grinned. “No, I don’t need one, but I wanted to show you,” he said. He indicated the gap behind the dumpster. “I can see a leather wallet right in here, about three feet along, and it’s got Knowle’s stale body odor all over it. Old leather, not new, that’s why it didn’t smell quite the same.” He wrinkled his nose. “I can also smell dried blood.” 

“Whoever assaulted Knowle must have thrown his wallet behind there after he robbed him,” Blair deduced. His heart was pounding, his own grin uncontainable. “You did it, Jim!” 

“Yeah,” Jim acknowledged. He pulled out his cell phone, and punched in a number. “Simon?” he said. “Blair and I are near the place where Knowle was assaulted, and we’ve found something. It looks like Knowle’s wallet. Can one of you come down here and check it out?” Blair watched as Jim nodded in response to whatever Simon said. “Yeah, we’re at the parking lot behind Gregg’s hardware store, at the corner of West Street and Fourth. There’s a dumpster right over by the fence. Looks like it’s not been emptied in months. The wallet has been tossed in behind it.” He was quiet again, nodding. “Yeah, thanks, we’ve not touched anything. I’ll wait to hear from you later. Bye.” He flipped the phone off, then looked at Blair. “He wants us to make ourselves scarce,” he said. He took a swig from the bottle of beer he still held, and passed it across to Blair. 

Blair took the bottle and downed a couple of gulps. The beer was warm and a bit flat, but it might as well have been the finest champagne as far as he was concerned. He saluted Jim with it and grinned. “Let’s get out of here, man.”


	27. Chapter 27

Of course, both of them knew that their discovery might not provide any new leads, but it was the first real hope they’d had. Therefore they were both in good spirits as they picked up some takeout from the restaurant that Jim had forgotten to go to, and headed back to the loft. 

Gradually, however, Jim’s initial euphoria ebbed as the next few hours passed. “We may not hear anything tonight,” Blair noted eventually, gamely trying his best to keep Jim’s spirits up as the clock inched toward ten o’clock, both of them beyond tired but unable to go to sleep until they knew what was happening. “I mean, it’s gonna get examined by forensics, right? That can take time to get results.” 

Jim was about to reply when there was a knock at the door. Meeting Blair’s eyes as he cast his senses out, he gave Blair a reassuring nod when he found out who it was. “It’s Simon,” he said, and went over to let him in. 

Simon got straight to the point, not even pausing to sit down. “The wallet definitely belongs to Knowle. Forensics have done a preliminary cross-match of fingerprints with the personnel database; one set of prints belongs to Knowle, and the others are unidentified. They’re being run through the main criminal database right now, so we’re just waiting for a match to show up. The good news is,” he said, looking at Jim, “that none of them are yours.” 

“Oh, thank god,” Jim said, weak with relief. Blair had moved in moved close beside him as Simon spoke, so Jim slipped his arm around him, and felt Blair’s arm go round his waist in turn. 

Simon didn’t even blink at the affectionate gesture. “Blood on the wallet has been sent for DNA matching, but it probably belongs to Knowle considering the state he was in. We’ll find out for sure in a few days.” He grinned at them both. “Looks like you’re well on the way to being in the clear, Jim.” 

But Jim knew it wasn’t all over yet. “Not if you don’t find a match for the other prints,” he said. “Until we know for sure who dumped it there, we’re no further along.” 

“Hey, don’t be so pessimistic,” Blair urged. “This is the best news we’ve had since this whole thing started. Keep positive, man!” 

“Yeah, I know,” Jim conceded. He was just so tired of this whole thing, desperate to regain the peace he and Blair had begun to share before this thing interrupted their lives, and so afraid of all the things that could still go wrong. “Sorry, Chief. It’s just… I just want this to be over.” 

“Oh yeah.” Blair was looking at him understandingly, and Jim had to resist an urge to kiss him in gratitude for his empathy, right there in front of Simon. “I know. Me too, Jim.” 

“I guess I don’t want to know how you found the wallet,” Simon said. 

Blair grinned.  “Just Jim doing his thing.” The pride in his voice filled Jim with warmth. “We went back to the place where Knowle was assaulted, and he used his scent memory to track it down.” Jim noted that Blair failed to mention anything about his own input into that scenario, including the pilfered tee-shirt. “He was pretty amazing, man.” 

“Yeah, well, we’ll keep the fact that you sniffed it out between the three of us, okay?” Simon said. “I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about how that wallet might have gotten there. As it is, I told the homicide captain that we found it because of an anonymous tip-off.” 

“You’ve handed the wallet over to Homicide?” Jim queried. 

“Yeah, I had to; it’s their case, after all. Some of our guys secured the scene initially, but Homicide came in after that and took over. That’s why I’m here so late, I had to wait until Serena went on duty before I could find out anything about the prints. She’s more sympathetic toward you than some of her colleagues, and doesn’t mind feeding me a bit of information. She came on shift a while ago, and she promised to call me the minute anything comes up from the search.” 

“You think she’ll let you know tonight?” Blair asked. The hope in his voice was unmistakable, and Jim definitely shared it. 

“If the prints are in the database, she’ll let me know as soon as they find a match,” Simon said. “However long that takes. If they’re not...” He shrugged. “Let’s just hope for the best, huh?” 

“Hey Simon, do you need to get home right away, or have you got time for a drink? Coffee, or maybe a beer?” Blair asked, reminding Jim too late that his own hospitality had been lacking. But when Simon agreed, Blair took charge and Jim just went with the flow, grateful that his partner had it all covered. 

For Jim’s part, however, his stomach was in knots and he could barely concentrate on the conversation that both Simon and Blair both tried, at intervals, to draw him into. He’d rarely felt so helpless as he had since this whole thing had blown up in his face, and this stressful wait for news just made the whole thing more acute. 

Jim had long ago acknowledged that he was a person who found it difficult to sit on the sidelines and wait patiently for others, no matter how trusted, to deal with problems on his behalf. During the brief time he’d spent in therapy he’d had to admit that out loud to a stranger, but of course he knew it was no mystery at all to Blair: the one person in the world who knew him almost better than he knew himself. 

Jim was used to bad stuff happening in his life, but despite all of it he’d made crawling out of the mire and dusting himself off an art form. As a Ranger he’d led the Chopec in battle to fulfill his mission when his team was killed, forging victory out of defeat. As a cop he’d been able to work on the inside to get himself out of trouble every time it came calling, including bringing down a drug ring when temporarily blinded. But he wasn’t on the inside anymore; no longer a cop, no longer able to steer this investigation. And, as Blair had ably demonstrated, he was at the mercy of senses that just would not cooperate when his emotions were compromised. Instead, all he could do was rely on the support of his friends and those who believed him innocent, like Blair and Simon, and also Serena, who was now risking her own professional reputation to ensure they were kept in the loop. 

“Hey,” Blair’s quiet voice stirred Jim out of contemplation. “Are you okay?” He and Blair were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, Blair’s presence a patch of comforting warmth at his side, and Jim realized he’d completely tuned out the conversation between his friends, dwelling on his own impotence as he’d been. 

“Yeah,” Jim acknowledged, a little lamely, “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t all right, not, really. He wouldn’t be until this was over. He forced himself to smile at Blair, who was watching him sympathetically. “Just breathing, you know?” 

That made Blair smile. “Yeah,” he said, clear understanding in his eyes. “I know.” 

Simon’s phone ringing made them all jump. Jim sat tense, and Blair reached out to hold tight to his hand as Simon listened to the caller, nodding and making acknowledging sounds, before he eventually spoke. “Yeah, yeah, that’s great. Thanks, Serena. No, I got it. I’ll do some more digging when I get in tomorrow morning. I truly appreciate it. Yeah, I’ll let Jim know.” He ended the call. 

Jim couldn’t speak, and hadn’t even made any effort to listen in, fearful as he was of bad news. But Blair was clearly under no such stricture. “Well?” He demanded. “What did she say?” 

Simon grinned. “She found a match. Seems the second set of prints belong to a guy called Steven Towner. He lives just a few streets away from the Clover Bar.” 

Jim was struggling to track what Simon was saying. Thankfully Blair came to the rescue. “So, does that mean Jim’s in the clear?” 

Simon shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. I hope so, Blair. It depends on a lot of things. Towner could have just found the wallet lying around, and have nothing to do with what happened to Knowle. Serena told me that he’s got a couple of convictions for public intoxication and threatening behavior, and there was also a shoplifting charge that was dropped.  He’s regarded locally as being a little odd, but he’s clearly not got any kind of reputation as a big-time criminal. It’s a long shot, but considering he lives in that area and his prints are all over the wallet, I’d say we found ourselves a suspect.” Simon glanced at his watch. “Look, I’d better get going. I’m going in early tomorrow to keep an eye on developments.” He looked pointedly at Jim. “You look beat, Jim. You’d better get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning as soon as there’s any more news.” 

“Yeah,” Jim acknowledged. Despite how tired he was, sleep seemed an impossible dream. “Thanks Simon, I appreciate it.” 

After Simon left, Blair came round to sit on the coffee table, facing Jim. “Hey,” he said. “Are you okay?” 

Jim wanted to say: _Yes, no problem Chief,_ but of course he wasn’t okay, and Blair knew it, so there was no point hiding it. “My head is pounding,” he admitted. “I just…” he stopped, not knowing what to say. 

But it was apparently pretty obvious how he was feeling. Blair smiled at him, his eyes filled with gentle understanding. “I think we should both wash up, and go to bed. I can help you with your headache, man.” Blair paused, then added, “Will you let me help you?” 

Exhausted beyond measure, wishing just for one ounce of peace, Jim found himself nodding. 

Awhile later, Blair took him by the hand and led him upstairs. They both undressed but, despite the quiet intimacy, this didn’t feel like a seduction, which Jim was grateful for. Despite their mutual attraction it was not what Jim needed right now, and he certainly wasn’t in a fit state to give Blair what he deserved. Instead they both dressed in their usual night attire, and Jim sighed in relieved exhaustion when Blair guided him into the bed. 

Blair slid in beside him, but didn’t lie down. Instead he maneuvered Jim, with Jim’s wordless cooperation, to lie on his side close beside him, one arm loosely draped across Blair’s thighs and his head pillowed on Blair’s lap. Blair stayed seated beside him, his hands smoothing gently across Jim’s close-cropped hair and down across his shoulders, soothing away the tension. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe, Jim. You’re safe; everything’s okay. Just keep breathing.” 

Jim breathed; and miraculously, somewhere between one breath and the next, he slept.


	28. Chapter 28

The aroma of coffee lured Blair to wakefulness. He was comfortable and sleepy, lulled by the body-warmed bed and the soothing sounds of Jim moving about downstairs. Languidly he yawned and stretched, enjoying the peace and comfort for just a little while longer. Yet already something was yelling at him, needling him, ordering him to _wake up_ already. There was something he had to do, something that required his attention. Something important. Something that couldn’t wait. 

Blair’s eyes snapped wide open and his breath caught as memory rushed back in: his visit to the hospital, Jim locating the wallet, Simon telling them some prints had been found. 

Scrambling out of bed he jogged down the stairs to see Jim wearing a robe, his short hair adorably mussed, pouring two mugs of coffee. Jim greeted him with a smile, looking supremely relaxed as if the stressful events of yesterday hadn’t happened. “Good morning,” he said. 

“Um, good morning,” Blair echoed, taking the mug that Jim handed to him. He glanced at the clock, and saw that it was after ten already; an unusually late start for both of them. “Are you okay, man?”

Jim grinned, then took a sip. “Never better,” he said. Then, apparently picking up on Blair’s clear suspicion that they’d both woken up into some weird, bizarro-world, he put Blair out of his misery. “Simon called just a little while ago. Towner is in custody, and Simon’s certain he’s their guy.” 

“Oh, man!” Blair put down his mug and grabbed Jim by the shoulders. “Really? It’s over?” 

Jim carefully placed his own mug down beside Blair’s, before embracing him. “Pretty much,” Jim said. 

“How can he be sure?” Bair asked. 

“Simon told me that when Towner’s property was searched, they found some stuff that implicates him beyond doubt. He said they’re so confident they’ve got their perp that Homicide have invited Major Crime in on the case.” 

“Wow.” Blair hadn’t expected that; the two jurisdictions had been practically at war over this case. “They must be sure you’re innocent, huh? Otherwise there’s no way they’d let Simon near it.” 

“I guess so,” Jim agreed. 

Blair pulled out of their embrace. “Why didn’t you wake me and tell me?” he demanded, mock punching Jim on the shoulder. 

“I figured you needed the sleep,” Jim said. “You were twisted around like a pretzel, I guess you fell asleep sitting up.” He smoothed a loving hand over Blair’s head. “Thank you,” he said, looking a little bashful. “I guess I wasn’t dealing too good last night.” 

It was true that Blair had stayed awake for a long time, watching over Jim as he slept. He didn’t really remember dozing off, although he must have done eventually. “It’s no big deal,” Blair said. “You’ve done the same for me plenty of times.” 

“I’m not just grateful about last night, Blair. Everything that you’ve done… I have no idea where I’d be right now without you. You’ve been amazing.” 

“Well, that was never going to happen, right? The being without me part.” Blair smiled. “You’re pretty much stuck with me.” He paused. “If that’s what you want, anyway.” 

In answer, Jim cupped the back of Blair’s head and leaned forward to kiss him. “That’s absolutely what I want,” he murmured. “ _You’re_ what I want. 

There was a hint of promise in this newly liberated Jim, abruptly free of the fear of incarceration. “So, you feel like going back to bed for a while?” Blair asked a little flirtatiously, rising to the bait. 

“I’d love to, but we need to go to the station,” Jim said. His tone, however, betrayed wistful apology. “Simon said he’d give us all the details once we’re there. And,” he added, “I guess I’d better call my lawyer, and give him the head’s up.” Jim smiled, and caressed Blair’s jaw, making him shiver. “Rain check, huh?” 

Blair nodded, his heart quickening for a few seconds. He wanted that. He _really_ wanted that, but now was not the time. “Yeah, yeah, definitely. Hey, let’s get moving man.” 

They ate a quick breakfast and got showered and dressed in record time, both of them anxious to see how this would play out. A phone call elicited the information that Jim’s lawyer was in court, and wouldn’t be available until later that afternoon, so after leaving a message to let him know what was happening, Jim and Blair headed out. 

At the P.D. Rafe was waiting for them downstairs when they arrived, their visitor passes already in his hand. It took a matter of moments for them to sign in and make their way to the elevator. 

Once upstairs in Major Crime, Rafe ushered them straight into Simon’s office. 

Simon greeted them, offering coffee as soon as they were seated. Anxious to know more about the night’s events, Blair asked, “So what’s the story about you guys working with Homicide on this? I never thought I’d see the day.” 

Simon shrugged. “This case has hurt some of my men. I made it crystal clear, as soon as I received word of the evidence recovered from Towner’s house, that I wanted in on this.” 

“Has Towner admitted it?” Jim asked. 

“He’s being interviewed now,” Simon said. “Homicide are still running the show, on condition they report any developments both to me and their own Captain. They’re going to let me know how it goes. But I’m pretty sure once forensics have finished analyzing the stuff retrieved from his house that any admission of guilt would just be frosting on the cake. One of the items they’re paying very close attention to is a hammer, which showed massive traces of blood under UV light. He’s guilty, no question. I’d lay odds on it.” 

Simon gestured them over to the table, where a couple of evidence bags lay. “And that’s not all they found. This is some of the other stuff that was recovered,” he said. “Knowle’s jacket,” Simon said, picking up the largest parcel to show them. 

“How do you know it’s his?” Blair asked. 

“It’s his,” Jim confirmed. “That new leather smell and Knowle’s sweat, remember?” 

“I’ll defer to your observational abilities, Ellison,” Simon said, “But there’s another reason we believe it belongs to Knowle.” He held up another bag, in which a grainy, crumpled printout of a black and white photograph could be seen. “I’m sorry, Sandburg. This was found in an inside pocket.” 

Suddenly Blair’s heart was beating triple time. The world tipped alarmingly, pain and fear and humiliation stealing his ability to breathe. He dimly heard Jim’s voice: “Goddamn it, Simon, couldn’t you have given him some warning?” 

The world gradually swam back into focus, Jim’s voice close by his ear. “Breathe, Blair. Come on, you can do it. That’s it.” Blair became aware that he was sitting down, leaning against Jim who had both arms wrapped around him. 

Fresh humiliation supplanted the bitter memory of it. Jim understood what this was, and knew how to deal with it. Simon, however, most likely thought him some kind of giant wuss. Blair gently extricated himself and sat upright, his cheeks flaming, grateful when Jim let him go. “I’m okay,” he said. 

“You sure?” A quick response, betraying Jim’s worry and concern. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.” Blair glanced at Simon, who was watching him with a horrified expression on his face. “Sorry, Simon,” Blair said. 

“I’m the one who should be sorry, Blair,” Simon said, his voice unaccountably gentle. “Like Jim said, I should have warned you. I apologize for that.” He glanced at Jim, who was stony faced, then looked back at Blair and asked, “Do you need to take a break for a while? Can I get you some water?” 

The sudden adrenaline rush had left Blair’s mouth parched, so he nodded. “Some water would be great, thanks. But I don’t need a break, I’m fine.” 

While Simon detoured to the fridge in the corner of the office, Blair reached out a hand toward the evidence bag which contained the photo. 

“Chief,” Jim warned, but Blair shook his head and Jim quieted, although his unhappiness was palpable. 

Blair pulled the bag toward him. He had known photos like this existed, but had never seen any of them. They had been presented as evidence at the trial of Lawrenson and the others, but Blair had avoided looking at them back then. He looked now, though. 

It was hard to make out the identity of the naked figure on the photo. It was taken from behind, so you couldn’t see the victim’s face clearly. He was trussed-up in what looked like (and had been) a supremely uncomfortable position. It sure didn’t look like Blair; not like how he saw himself, anyway. It was some poor schmuck, for sure, shaved and battered and breached. ‘Object insertion’ was how that final bit of abuse had been described at the trial, a clinical, unemotional term to describe the intimately terrible thing that had been done to him. 

Blair ran a finger over the photo, wishing he could go back in time and tell the terrified, hurting man it depicted that he’d live through this. That there was light at the end of the tunnel; that the assholes who hurt him would lose everything and go to prison, and Blair would reclaim his life, damn it, because he was more than this pitiful creature they’d tried to make him into, _much_ more. He had value and was loved, and emphatically was not broken. 

All in all, he’d pretty much won. 

He smiled up at Jim. “I’m okay,” he said, and something in his tone made the worry lines around Jim’s eyes smooth away. 

Jim nodded. 

Simon came back then. He handed over a bottle of water, which Blair took gratefully. “Thanks,” he said, as he unscrewed the cap, gratified that his voice sounded more or less normal. “So, what else was found?” 

Simon continued as though Blair’s little freak-out hadn’t happened, which Blair appreciated. “It looks like Knowle is not the only person Towner has done this to. A lock-box was discovered under his bed, containing Knowle’s credit cards, plus several more belonging to other people. At least five of the cards were stolen from victims who sustained stab wounds within the past few months, two of whom died at the scene. One of the survivors is still in intensive care. It seems that at some point after he brained Knowle, our perp decided carrying a knife was more convenient than a hammer.” 

“Did no one connect the other assaults with what happened to Knowles?” Blair asked. 

“The perp changed his M.O.,” Jim deduced, and Simon nodded. “He only used a hammer that one time; after that he used a knife.” 

“Got it in one, Ellison,” Simon confirmed. “Homicide have been investigating a series of stabbings, which started up around a week after Knowle was assaulted. Basically we’ve just helped them to close the biggest serial murder investigation currently on their books, and brought in the man who nearly killed one of their detectives into the bargain.” 

“One thing puzzles me,” Blair said. “If the perp had all those stolen credit cards, including Knowle’s, how come he wasn’t caught trying to use them?” 

“As far as we know, he didn’t even _try_ to use them,” Simon said. “He just stored them in that damn box. The weird thing is, they were all neatly arranged and catalogued. Seems he liked to keep a well-documented filing system.” 

“They’re trophies,” Jim suggested. “Same as the jacket. Am I right?” 

“That’s what we suspect,” Simon agreed. “In every stabbing case credit cards were taken, and also one additional item belonging to the victim. Very often cash was left behind, all of which suggested that the attacks had a ritualistic motive, rather than just robbery. It seems that was borne out by what was found. A closet upstairs in Towner’s house was set aside for the things he took, all neatly arranged and labeled on shelves. It’s probably why he dumped Knowle’s wallet on his way home; guy seems to have been very particular about taking only _one_ thing.” 

“And the wallet would have been one thing too many,” Blair understood. “Yeah, I can see how that would bother someone with that kind of obsessive mindset. I guess he didn’t look in the inside pocket of the jacket, otherwise the picture would’ve probably been thrown away too.” Blair shuddered. He’d had more than his fair share of close brushes with ritualistic serial killers, and the taking of other people’s belongings as trophies brought up memories best left buried. 

A knock at the door made them all turn. “Captain Banks?” A man and a woman walked into the office, both of whom Blair vaguely recognized as detectives on the floor below. When Simon greeted them, it became clear that they were the leads on the case. It seemed that, at least for now, Towner’s interrogation was over.


	29. Chapter 29

“Hey, come in,” Simon beckoned. “Detectives Joe Powley and Marsha Jackson from Homicide,” Simon introduced. “You two already know Jim Ellison. This is Jim’s partner, Blair Sandburg.” 

As he shook hands with the two detectives, Blair was both surprised and gratified at being introduced as Jim’s partner. Neither he nor Jim were cops anymore, so the word ‘partner’, in their case, had a whole different connotation. If the two detectives were startled or shocked by it, however, they gave no sign. Blair supposed that it would come as no surprise to some that he and Jim were out as a couple, given Simon’s assertion that everyone had always assumed that they had a deeper relationship anyway. 

“I just wanted to let you know,” Powley said, “that we’ve got a confession. Towner remembers very clearly what he did to Knowle, and is more than happy to talk about it at length, despite his lawyer trying to get him to pipe down. He seems pretty pleased with himself, to be honest. He’s admitted to the rest of it, too. The stabbings and a number of other assaults and robberies we hadn’t even connected with this case until now.” He shook his head in wonderment. “Easiest interrogation I ever did.” 

His partner, Marsha Jackson, spoke up, at that. “The thing with the credit cards? He says he was trying to collect, and I quote, ‘the whole set’. He liked organizing them alphabetically by the type of card; you know, ‘Mastercard’ all went together, and ‘American Express’. He used to get them out and read through the names of the people he took them from. His only regret seems to be that he didn’t get the chance to get a few more.” 

“Oh, man.” Blair shook his head. “Like some kind of twisted baseball card collector? Only with extra added murder.” 

“You got it,” Jackson confirmed. “And you know what? Even if he hadn’t confessed, he’s pretty much condemned himself in his own written words. He kept detailed records in a notebook about each and every card, where and how he got them, including the nature of the assault, and the other stuff he took. It’s how he remembers Knowle so well. It seems to be part of a pattern of behavior; his whole house is full of junk, organized and catalogued in a meticulous way. He says he used to live there with his mom, but she died just over a year ago. I’m guessing, from what I’ve seen, that Mama had some of the same issues about collecting stuff and keeping everything neatly in its place.” 

“Maybe her death was the catalyst for this.” Blair pondered. “He’s trying to amass a collection in an organized way, and keep it all neat and tidy, just like his mom did. It could be a way of re-establishing routine and control now she’s gone.” 

“It could be, Chief,” Jim said. “One thing’s for sure, the guy’s got issues.” 

“Yeah, you’re right there,” Powley agreed. “In fact he’s about to be transported to Conover for evaluation, which his lawyer pushed for and we have no objection. I expect he’ll probably end up committed rather than incarcerated. The good news is that he’s off the streets for good, no matter what happens.” 

“Good work, detectives,” Simon praised. “I know this has been a tough one.” 

“Yeah, Captain,” Powley acknowledged. “It’s been difficult for quite a few of us.” He looked at Jim meaningfully. “Tough for you too, huh?” he said. “I’m sorry about that Ellison. It was never personal. Not from our perspective, anyway.” 

Jim shrugged, looking supremely unbothered. “Just doing your job,” he said, reaching out to both of them to shake hands. “No harm, no foul.” 

The two cops left not long after that. As Jim and Simon talked about the outcome of the case, Blair wandered over again to the table, where the evidence bags still lay. He picked up the photo once more. He was surprised how little it bothered him to look at it, now that he’d gotten over his initial shock. He made a mental note to talk about this strange, post-anxiety detachment he was feeling with his therapist the next time they spoke. 

Something made him look up, and focus on a group of people talking over by the elevator. Powley and Jackson had stopped to chat to a third person, and Blair recognized him as Greg Knowle’s partner, Moretti. Blair glanced at Jim, who was still deep in conversation with Simon, and not knowing exactly what motivated him to do it he quietly walked out of the office, the photo still in his hand, and approached the three of them. 

“Hey.” Blair’s quiet enquiry made them all turn to look at him. Moretti’s eyes widened with surprised recognition, and he flushed bright red. Something cold and furious gripped Blair, then. This guy, Moretti, had said some despicable things about him when Blair had last seen him at the courthouse, and if he wasn’t the originator of this photo, he certainly knew where it had come from. Deciding to take advantage of Moretti’s obvious discomfiture, Blair held up the photograph so the other man could see it. “It’s not a very good likeness,” he said. “I mean, it’s a copy of a copy, right? It’s poor quality, and even I can’t tell for sure it’s me. Shame you couldn’t get your hands on the original instead, huh?” 

Powley and Jackson didn’t say anything, both of them glancing at each other and looking intensely uncomfortable, but Moretti glared at him. “Are you accusing me of something?” 

Blair grinned. “Hey no, not at all. We’re cool, man. But I just thought I’d let you in on the _real_ joke. What they did to me there was pretty horrible, but,” he paused and laughed shortly, “it wasn’t the worst thing they did. I mean,” he looked at the photo, then back at Moretti. “You’d think having something stuck up your ass like that, and being left there naked for everyone to see, would be the worst. Most guys would hate that, right? But the worst part happened _way_ before that.” 

“Sandburg,” Powley cautioned softly. 

But Blair was on a roll. “They had me for nearly three whole days. They beat me up pretty bad, but that wasn’t the worst part, either. About every two or three hours they stuck my face in a bowl of water and held me under until I couldn’t hold my breath any longer.” Blair kept his tone conversational and measured, in complete contrast to the horror he was describing. “I lost count of how many times they did it. I thought, every time, that _this_ was the time I was going to die. It came really close once or twice. It’s the thing I remember the clearest, the part I have still have the most trouble dealing with. It doesn’t help that someone tried to drown me once before already, which those guys knew all about. They knew exactly what they were doing; exactly how to get to me.” 

“Jesus.” Marsha Jackson’s quiet expletive indicated the effect Blair’s words were having on her, at least. 

“But this?” Blair carried on, indicating the photo again. “This was nothing in comparison. By the time _this_ happened, the worst was over. But hey, I’m glad you and your friends got a laugh out of it. I mean, the assholes who did it thought it was funny too. I guess it’s hilarious, if you don’t give a shit about what happened before.” He looked again at Moretti, who wouldn’t meet his eyes, and felt nothing but a cold, deep satisfaction. “See you around, huh?” he said. “Give my regards to Greg. He’s a nice guy. I’m sorry about what happened to him.” 

As Blair turned, he saw Jim standing in the doorway of Simon’s office, leaning against the frame with his arms folded, and their eyes met. Jim nodded at him in acknowledgement, and Blair understood that he’d listened to the whole thing, no doubt holding himself aloof on a hair trigger, ready to butt right in the second it looked like Blair might need some backup, the big goof. Blair smiled, trusting absolutely that Jim had his back, knowing that no matter what these assholes said about him from now on, and no matter how many copies of copies of _copies_ of this stupid photograph existed, he was going to be okay. They were _both_ going to be okay. 

Jim’s slight stiffening of posture alerted Blair one second before a tentative hand landed on Blair’s arm, halting his retreat. “Hey, Sandburg.” It was Joe Powley. “Wait up, please.” There was no animosity in his bearing, just contrite embarrassment. Blair turned to look at him, and Powley went on, “Look, I’m really sorry. Marsha and me, we’ve got nothing to do with this,” he indicated the photograph that Blair still held. “Moretti’s not the one who’s putting them around either, for what it’s worth. But I have an idea where they’re coming from. I’ll talk to the people involved; get them taken out of circulation. If I see any more around the place, I’ll put a stop to it.” 

It was way beyond what Blair had hoped to achieve; he’d honestly just seized an impulsive opportunity to vent a bit of spleen. “Thanks, man,” he said sincerely. “I really appreciate it.” 

The guy nodded. “Take it easy, Sandburg, I wish you luck. Ellison too,” he said. Then he turned and walked away. 

Blair carried on walking. As he reached the door to Simon’s office, Jim stood aside to let him in. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he murmured. 

“Yeah, man, hear me roar,” Blair murmured back, grinning, as he passed by and went back into Simon’s office. Once inside, he placed the photo down on the table, and turned his back on it for the last time. Job done. 

“You okay, Sandburg?” Simon pointedly asked, glancing meaningfully out into the bullpen. 

Blair felt pretty good, actually. “Yeah, I’m fine, Simon. Thanks.” 

Simon just nodded. “Okay. So, I guess we’re done here.” He looked across at Jim, who had come over to stand at Blair’s side. “I’ll make sure the D.A. is informed that the charges against you have been dropped, Jim.” 

“Thanks,” Jim acknowledged. 

They took a little time to take their leave, their gratitude for Simon’s part in all of this profound. Mostly he just shrugged it off: “Just doing my goddamn job, Ellison.” But he was a good friend, and both Blair and Jim knew and appreciated that. Before heading home, therefore, they made sure that Simon did too.


	30. Chapter 30

Back at the loft, Blair felt restless. He was elated that Jim was in the clear, and more than a little pumped with adrenaline after his confrontation with Moretti. Something else was beginning to dawn on him also, which only added to his restlessness: he was beginning to realize that he’d not given any thought to what he would do when this was all over. With everything that had been going on, he’d been totally focused on what was happening with Jim: on keeping up his spirits, and finding a way to resolve this thing. Now, of course, quite abruptly, he had no such focus. 

Being back in Cascade had not proved to be half as impossible as Blair had imagined, but he still didn’t feel comfortable here. The question he had to ask himself was: what should he do now? The thought of heading back to Durham, to his poky little apartment and his job at the bookstore, held a certain appeal. It was safe, familiar and (unlike Cascade) somewhere Blair could be relatively anonymous. The unthreatening steadiness of it was something that had kept him together at a time when he had been so very close to falling apart. 

But to consider leaving Jim behind? That part was unthinkable. 

The question Blair had to consider was whether he was willing to give up the new life he’d begun to painstakingly forge for himself in the south, and stay here in Cascade (assuming that Jim wanted him to, of course). At one time, he would never have even considered such a thing. But now? Now, things were different. 

“Are you okay?” Jim asked, coming up behind Blair and sliding his arms around him. Now the threat was emphatically over, and Jim was no longer terrified out of his mind, he had apparently reverted back to the gentle, loving man Blair had become so accustomed to spending time with over the past few months. Blair liked this version of Jim; it was _his_ Jim, the Jim who was no longer defined by a stressful and dangerous occupation, the Jim who seemed easily able to kick back a little and relax, taking each day as it came with incongruous ease. 

Blair smiled, leaning back against Jim with a sigh, laying his hands over the other man’s where they rested, palms spread, across his stomach. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He turned his head to look up at Jim over his shoulder. “How about you?” 

Jim smiled and nodded. “I’m good. I’m...” he shifted a little, maneuvering Blair around into a better position for a kiss. “Real good.” 

“So,” Blair said, when their lips finally parted. “Are you ready to take me up on that rain check now?” 

In answer Jim raised his eyebrows, smiling a little bashfully. Then he nodded, and pointedly took Blair by the hand to lead him upstairs. 

*** 

Jim’s admiration for Blair was overflowing right now. The way he’d handled himself at the station, dealing with a graphic reminder of the past but managing to get himself together and focus on business. Getting right up in the face of that asshole Moretti, comprehensively shaming him, then walking away like he’d won a knockout fight. Blair’s courage was beyond compare, and that was even before Jim got into the thousand and one ways that Blair had supported him throughout this entire mess. 

It wasn’t just admiration which fuelled his desire, of course. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, as he urged Blair out of his clothes, both of them erupting into breathy laughter as their mutual eagerness to disrobe each other resulted in clashes of arms and legs which just ended up slowing the whole thing down. 

Blair gave a delighted, surprised chuckle at Jim’s praise, as though somehow astonished by it. He was blushing like crazy, looking so adorably abashed that Jim kissed him some more as soon as he got him lying down on the bed, and ended up teasing him good-naturedly as they tussled with each other, and even tickling him a little, just to hear him laugh again. 

But the tickling soon morphed into more intimate caresses, the enormity of Jim’s feelings for Blair projected in every touch and glance. Blair returned it in kind, his expression full of trust and joy. But when Jim’s hands crept down to cup his ass he tensed and, totally attuned to every cue, Jim pulled his hands away and held Blair soothingly close. 

As soon as Blair’s tension seeped away and he relaxed, Jim asked, “Are you okay with this?” 

He felt Blair nod fervently against his chest. “Oh, yeah. I am. I really am. It’s just… I need to be completely honest with you, here. I’ve got a few hang-ups. There are things… things I’m not all that eager to do. Not right away, anyway. I used to be a pretty experimental kinda guy but now,” Blair sighed. “I guess some parts of what happened affected me more than I ever wanted to admit.” 

Jim kissed him on the forehead, and gently stroked his back before holding him tight again. “There’s nothing I want to do with you, except make you feel good. If it doesn’t feel good, we don’t do it. Simple as that.” 

“I don’t want to be a disappointment.” 

“That is so far beyond impossible, I don’t even have a word for it,” Jim said. 

Blair pulled back to look at him. To Jim’s relief, he didn’t look troubled. “You’re pretty smitten, huh,” he said with a smile. 

“Yup.” Jim kissed him again, then, and Blair joined in enthusiastically, his rekindled desire clear. Pulling Blair tight against him, Jim let one hand wander downward to more familiar territory. 

“Um, I’m pretty smitten too,” Blair admitted breathlessly a little while later. 

Even later he murmured hoarsely, “Jim?” 

“Uh huh?” 

“That feels _really_ good. Just in case you were wondering.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Jim acknowledged. And then he went on to make Blair feel even better. 

*** 

After spending a protracted afternoon of delightful give and take with Jim, Blair dozed for a while, then found himself languidly watching the shimmering glow of late afternoon sunlight as it filtered in through the skylight above his head, broken only by intermittent shadows of fluffy cumulous clouds dancing across the walls and ceiling. Into the comfortable peace which existed between them, Jim stirred beside him and murmured, “What’s on your mind?” 

A perceptive man, his Jim. They were going to talk about this now, then. No sense in putting it off any longer. “I’m wondering what to do next, I guess. Now it’s all over, I mean. I… I have to make some decisions. About where to live, stuff like that.” 

Jim didn’t seem troubled. “Your apartment is pretty small. But there’s no rush. We could stay there while we look for something better.” 

It took a moment for what Jim was saying to register, then Blair hoisted himself up on one elbow to look at him.  “You want to come back with me?” 

“Yeah, of course!” Jim frowned. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

“Mind? Why would I mind?” 

“You seem surprised.” 

“I just… I didn’t think you’d want to leave Cascade, Jim. It’s your home.” 

“I only came here because I had no choice. I was planning, right up until Simon ordered me back, to ask if I could move in with you permanently.” 

Blair didn’t have much to say to that, other than breathing out, “Wow. Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Besides,” Jim shrugged, “I’m done here. I gave up my job, remember? I figure if I put the loft on the market and sell it for what it’s worth, I should have enough equity to make a reasonable down payment on a place down south, with plenty left over and my pension to live off until I find some kind of work. And with your job, and now you have extra in the bank, you could manage to contribute toward a mortgage, right? Between us we can work something out. If you need time to think about whether you want to commit to buying a place we can rent awhile longer, but it makes sense to invest in our own property instead of it all going in some landlord’s pocket... what?” 

Blair was grinning. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, huh?” he said. 

“Yeah,” Jim admitted. “I have.” 

“Okay, then!” Blair said. “Let’s do it man! Let’s sell the loft, go back there, buy a place of our own, and live together." 

“You sure?” 

Blair whacked Jim with the back of his hand. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m sure, you jerk.” 

Jim grinned, the embodiment of loose-limbed, sated relaxation, looking happier than Blair could remember seeing him for a long, long time. “Okay, then,” he agreed. “Let’s do it.”


	31. Chapter 31

Six months down the line their plans had altered, as plans often do. But it was all good; it was all _more_ than good. In fact, Blair couldn’t remember ever being happier or more filled with optimism in his life, apart from the moment he’d first met Jim, which continued to be a stand-out for so many enduring reasons. 

As Blair surveyed their empty apartment in Durham, checking that nothing had been left behind before locking up for the very last time, he pondered the decision process that had brought them to this point, on the verge of starting over once more. 

Blair had learned an important lesson during the time he’d spent in Cascade supporting Jim: that despite his ongoing recovery and lingering fears, he was still more than capable of taking on a challenge and working toward a solution. At his heart, Blair was a problem solver, a think-outside-the-box kinda-guy, particularly where it involved working toward some greater good. He was also, despite the period of extreme unsociability he’d indulged in before Jim sought him out, someone who thrived on the company of others. Since they’d returned to Durham, therefore, he’d come to recognize that stacking books and cataloguing new stock, while a welcome relief from stress when he’d desperately needed it, simply wasn’t cutting it anymore. He was bored and antsy, and he needed to move on. 

With Jim’s blessing, he’d gone looking for a new career. One that would remind him, day after day, that he was far stronger and more capable than he’d once feared he’d ever be again; something that would enable him to draw on his own experience to help others. The more he’d delved into the study of cognitive behavioral therapy – and Blair was someone who tended to study in-depth pretty much everything he got involved with – the more fascinated and intrigued he became. That its practical application had helped him was never in doubt. That he could perhaps pass on the benefit of his own experience, and use that practical application to help others? That would be something else again, and the longer he considered it, Blair found that he wanted it more than almost anything he’d ever wanted in his life. 

He’d discovered what he was looking for hundreds of miles away, in a different town in a different state, near enough to Cascade that keeping in regular touch with their good friends and Jim’s family there wouldn’t present any significant problem, yet far enough away to give Blair the physical distance he felt he still needed. The University of Oregon in Eugene had a great graduate psychology programme, and after going through the necessary recruitment hoops, Blair had accepted an offer to start on it that Fall. His minor in psych and other academic qualifications had given him the necessary prerequisites to progress straight onto a two-year Master’s degree, with a view to gaining a PhD in Psychology within the next four to six years. As part of his training he was planning to do a clinical internship with the V.A., specifically to work with PTSD survivors. 

Blair fully understood that his personal acquaintance with PTSD was far from over. He’d remained in therapy since they returned to Durham, and would be continuing on with a different therapist once they relocated to Eugene, drawing on his own source of psychological support even as he learned to give that same support to others. It was a lifelong journey, he now understood. A road through good days and not so good days, requiring him to pause and take a breath here and there, before continuing doggedly on. He was filled with gratitude and joy that Jim had chosen to walk the path by his side, always there to steady his steps at those occasional moments when he stumbled. 

Footsteps behind him alerted him to Jim’s return. While Blair finished up in here, Jim had been downstairs packing the last of their belongings into the U-Haul they’d rented for the long road trip to Oregon. “Hey,” Jim said, moving up close beside Blair and putting an arm around him. “You ready to go?” 

Blair sighed. Despite how driven he felt to seize this chance to forge a new future, there were still moments when he doubted his readiness to take on such a massive challenge. “Am I doing the right thing, Jim? I mean, I want this. I really want it. But… it’s not gonna be easy. It’ll take years of work before I get to where I need to be. What happens if my own issues get in the way, and I find I just can’t do it? Or even worse, what if I end up screwing up some vulnerable person’s life because of my own shit?” 

Jim shrugged. “You know, I’ve had a few issues myself over the years. But one day, when I was scared out of my mind, this weird, geeky little guy walked into my hospital room and basically saved my life. A few years later, this same guy - who’d been hurt in all kinds of terrible ways - put all of his fears to one side and flew alone to a place full of really bad memories, just to be a rock for me when I really needed one. I think that’s the kind of guy who can do anything he sets out to do, despite whatever difficulties he might face along the way. And I’d like to think there are others out there who are just waiting for this guy to come along and be a rock for them too.” 

Blair was so choked he could hardly speak. “Jim…” 

Jim pulled him close. “I believe in you, Tinkerbell. I do.” 

Eventually Blair pulled away, and smiled up at Jim. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “What do you mean, ‘weird, geeky little guy’? I’m not a geek!” 

Jim grinned. “Two out of three ain’t bad. You ready to hit the road, partner?” 

Blair felt something settle inside of him then, like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place, along with a profound sense of this being a defining moment, an epiphany right here on the edge of the rest of his life. “Yeah,” he said, and he realized that he meant it. With Jim at his side, he was truly beginning to believe he might be able to achieve anything. “I’m ready.” 

 

The End

 


End file.
